Star-Bound
by The Incredible Muffin
Summary: Some destinies are written out centuries, or even millennia, ahead of time. However, when destiny is derailed, new plans have to be implemented. Sometimes, that involves ripping someone away from the peaceful end they seek and thrusting them into a tide of never-ending war in order to fix what can never be repaired.
1. Farewell

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. SOMEONE GET ME MY SPACESHIP, IMMA GO SHOOT SOME HERETICS.**

***peeks around corner***

**Hi?**

***ducks under flying chainsword***

**Holy crap!**

**So… yeah. I thought I wouldn't have any free time after finishing Honor-Bound. I was wrong. I've got the first chapter of its sequel, so… yeah. For those of you reading this who haven't read Honor-Bound first, do that. Right now. Seriously, you won't understand anything about the Shepard of this story if you don't.**

**Not gonna waste any more time, let's jump right in!**

Star-Bound

Chapter 1

Farewell

_**2885, Imperial Calendar**_

_Stone chipped and collapsed, and the cave opened up to sunlight for the first time in centuries. The first to enter the cave was a human; he was tall, with handsome features that were obscured by a bandana around his face. Despite the cloth over his mouth, he coughed as dust flew everywhere._

"_I told you to wait," said a long-suffering voice from behind him. "You didn't listen, Shepard."_

_Gregor Shepard IV, younger brother to the current Emperor and distant descendent of the legendary Alexia Shepard, just shrugged._

"_After all this time searching, I couldn't help myself."_

_Thokk Stonehand, Gregor's closest friend, stomped into the cave and took a look around. "How can you be sure that _this _is the spot? You were wrong about the last six."_

_Gregor pulled down the bandana to show his grin, and pointed to the far side of the cave. Leaning against the wall was an ornate Dwarf-forged chest. Thokk's eyes, partially concealed by his bushy eyebrows, widened considerably._

"_Definitely made by my people," the Dwarf said, and hurried over to the chest. "It's not locked. Why isn't it locked?"_

_Gregor raised an eyebrow. "Either there's nothing in it, or there is, and we're supposed to open it."_

_Thokk accepted that logic with a philosophical shrug, and gently pried open the chest. Inside, perfectly preserved, was an ancient book._

"_I thought as much," Gregor said, and reverently lifted the book out of the chest. "I knew Saint Shepard wouldn't leave without a final message!"_

"_Yes, yes, you were right," Thokk grumbled, though his beard couldn't quite hide his smile—after all, they had just discovered something belonging to the most famous Dwarf Friend since Sigmar Himself. "Is there anything in the book, or did we come all this way for an empty journal?"_

"_Let me open it and see." Gregor pulled a flashlight from his belt, turned it on, and opened the book. "'Property of Alexia Shepard, former Countess of Wissenland, Seneschal of Nuln…' it goes on with her titles. It's mentioned in the records that she found listing off her titles very funny." He fell silent as he read the first few pages. "It's definitely her last journal. The date starts a few months before she left; she mentions helping Empress Eleanor with a new satellite design."_

"_What about why she left, or where she was going?" Thokk asked. "In fact, why did she leave the journal here?"_

"_I'm getting to that." Gregor carefully flipped the pages to the last entry. "All right, it says that she discovered a minor Chaos rift in the pass."_

"_We didn't see anything," Thokk said, though the mention of Chaos had both of them instinctively reaching for holstered weapons._

"_It _was _almost three hundred years ago," Gregor reminded him. "Those things last for only few minutes at the best of times. Hold on, the journal says that this one was particularly stable, and Alexia was going to spend time studying it."_

"_Why would she do that?" Thokk spat off to the side. "She should have destroyed it."_

"_With what weapons?" Gregor asked back. "She was old, and she didn't have long to live."_

_Thokk grumbled, but didn't argue._

"_Here, let me read the last entry." Gregor cleared his throat. "'To the one who finds this, I leave my journal here, contained in the chest that once carried the pieces of the most important item in the world. I'm about to attempt an experiment with the rift, and if it kills me, I would like whoever finds my journal to bring it back to my family. They deserve to know what happened after I left.'" Gregor blinked back tears as he realized he was reading her last words. "'And now, I'm about to begin the most important of scientific procedures…'"_

…

Alexia Shepard laughed as she wrote the final lines in her journal. "There, whoever reads this will think I know what I'm doing." She gently put the journal into the chest and walked out of the cave; she tossed one of the handful of grenades she'd brought with her at the pile of rocks above the entrance, and sealed the mouth. "There. Now, back to that rift."

Shepard was old, by Imperial standards, at ninety-five years of age. If she was back in the Alliance, the modern medicine would have let her do cartwheels at that age, but here, she wasn't so lucky. She walked with a slight stoop, and she required a cane to support her aching back and legs. The single stripe of red in her otherwise silver hair had faded, and deep lines mixed with scars across her face. Still, she walked with purpose; after all, she had found something new, and her curiosity was getting the better of her.

There, waiting just in front of her car, was the source of her newfound curiosity. It looked like a waving ribbon of darkness, but Shepard didn't get the sense of wrongness she would have felt from sources of Chaos. It wasn't comforting, but neither was it threatening; instead, it just felt strange.

"All right, time for that 'scientific procedure'." Shepard raised her cane. "Poke it with a stick!"

She looked at the cane fondly; the steel top of the cane, shaped to look like the head of a Griffon, had been forged from the melted-down remains of the war-pick that was once wielded by her late husband, Gregor Helschlitt. She felt closer to him by having the cane, especially when she felt her life reaching its end. Perhaps this would be the day she was finally reunited with him.

"Let's do this," Shepard muttered, and thrust the bottom half of the cane into the rift. When nothing happened, she pulled the cane out. "Well… that's disappointing."

As if responding to her words, the rift thrashed like a living thing, and then widened to allow two snarling Bloodletters access to the material world. Thanks to Shepard's efforts in the Final War, the forces of Chaos could only rarely influence the world, and even then, only briefly before being banished once again. Of course, the few minutes the Daemons had were more than enough time to kill her.

Shepard was old, but she still had honed reflexes; she snatched up the pistol from its holster and put three bullets into one Daemon's skull before it truly noticed her. The other one shrieked and lunged at her; Shepard rolled under its blade—far slower than she would have even a few years ago—and let the Daemon stab into the engine of her car.

_David helped me build that, _she thought sourly as she whirled around to fire at the Bloodletter.

Unfortunately, her old body chose that moment to betray her. Her left leg gave out, her pistol slipped out of her hand, and she fell backwards… into the rift. The Bloodletter howled, enraged at its kill being stolen, and took a final swipe with its sword; rather than cut into her flesh, the blade only sliced off most of her cane.

The last thing Shepard saw was the screaming Daemon, and then everything went dark.

…

At first, Shepard thought she'd died. She couldn't feel anything—not cold, nor heat, but also none of the aches and pains she'd accumulated over the last few decades. Actually, other than the fact that she appeared to falling forever, she hadn't felt so good since before she became a soldier.

She wished she could see what was happening, but there was nothing but the empty void. It reminded her too much of the time she'd been tortured by Mazdamundi, only there was no pain this time.

_If this is the afterlife, I'm a little disappointed, _she thought. _Maybe this is the way there? I hope Gregor will be waiting for me._

NOT YOUR TIME.

Shepard felt her momentum abruptly cease, and she was left floating in the void, stunned by the sheer presence of the voice in her head.

MUCH TO DO.

"What? I don't understand…" Shepard's voice was soft and weak, overwhelmed by whoever, or whatever, was speaking. She felt like a pebble standing before a mountain.

YOU POSSESS POTENTIAL. TAKE THIS POWER. FIGHT THE DARKNESS. FIGHT!

Shepard felt like she'd been electrocuted; there was a sharp spike of pain, but it quickly faded, replaced by an energy she hadn't felt in decades. She felt young and strong; more than that, she could feel something deep within her that could only be described as divine power. It was a light, a fire, a core of energy that could never be extinguished. However, it also felt like there was a thin wall that prevented Shepard from truly grasping that power. Something was blocking her, but she didn't know what.

GO NOW. YOU MUST BEGIN.

Before Shepard could ask anything, something jerked her forward. A light shined in the distance, which grew in size and intensity until it was almost blinding. Shepard closed her eyes just before she impacted the source, but there was no pain; when she opened her eyes, she found that she was no longer in the void. Instead, she found herself staring up at a cloudy sky.

She was also about fifty feet in the air, and falling fast.

"Oh, shit!" Shepard instinctively braced herself before hitting the ground with the force of a slow meteor. There was a crack of shattering stone, and dust exploded outward; Shepard coughed and waved the dust out of her face. "Fuck me, that… really didn't hurt all that much. Huh."

_Wait a minute. _Shepard frowned. _Why didn't that hurt? Even in my prime, that would have done some damage._

It was then that Shepard noticed her own hand. Earlier that day, it had been withered and dotted with scars. Now, the skin was smooth and flawless; Shepard reached up and pulled a strand of hair up to her eyes, and saw that it was the fiery red she'd once had. A quick look down at herself revealed that her entire body was indeed younger. If she had to guess, she was back to her early twenties.

With shaking hands, Shepard touched her face. The jagged scar that had so defined her features still remained, but it was thinner, and though she had no mirror, she was sure it was less noticeable.

"Whoever Big Voice Guy was made me younger," Shepard said aloud, as if confirming it to herself. "Wow."

_Putting aside the fact that I'm younger than my own grandson now, the first step is to find out where I am. _She looked around, but saw no familiar landmarks. She had traveled all over the Empire, and had made occasional diplomatic visits to other lands, but she didn't recognize the fields of jagged stone surrounding her. Even if she was somewhere familiar, she doubted anyone would recognize her. Besides being younger, her clothes weren't that of a noble; her fall from the sky had left her clothing tattered and covered in dirt.

Also, as if to confirm that she wasn't home, when the clouds parted for a moment, she noticed an unnatural scar across the sky, and the few constellations she could see were all wrong.

In the distance, Shepard could hear the sound of cannons and gunfire. It was at the very edge of her sight, but she spotted a city, larger than any she'd ever seen before, and the tell-tale flashes of weapons being fired.

_Okay, so I'm not on my own planet anymore, and I ended up near a war. _Shepard paused, and then sank to her knees, overwhelmed by sudden regret. _I left them behind again. I left my _family_ behind!_

"Why would you do this to me!?" she shouted to the heavens. "All I wanted was to be with Gregor again! You took that away, and then you made me live longer!" Tears fell down her face. "What more do I have to do before I get some fucking peace!? _Why won't you let me die_!?"

A loud crunching sound from behind her made her turn. At first, all she saw was an armored midsection; she tilted her head back, looking up and up… until she saw the biggest man—if it could be called that—she'd ever seen.

Easily eight feet tall, the figure wore impossibly thick armor; the drab steel plates were trimmed with black and yellow hazard stripes, while the left shoulder guard had a stylized metal skull painted on it. In one gauntlet, the warrior carried a rifle that looked big enough to count as a turret in the Systems Alliance, but he hefted it like Shepard would a small pistol. In his other hand, the warrior held a blade that would have counted as a small sword for a normal human, but for him, it looked like a large knife. On his back was some kind of generator that ended in two extended vents at the top.

Shepard took in the armor at a glance—and rapidly came to the conclusion that there was no way in hell she could scratch it—but it was the other features that had her worried.

First, the warrior's helmet had horns. This wasn't necessarily worrying, since she'd known Dwarfs with horned helms, but these horns were impossibly fused with the metal, as if they'd _grown _through it. There were other unnatural features—one eye-lens looked organic, and the knife was oozing orange blood—but the biggest sign was on his right shoulder. Shepard hadn't seen that mark in decades, but she'd recognize that eight-pointed star anywhere.

This person, this _thing_, was an agent of Chaos.

With a hate-filled snarl, Shepard grabbed the first weapon she had on hand—her broken cane—and jumped at the monster. It didn't matter that he was far outside her league, or that he was armed and she wasn't; Shepard needed something to vent her anger on.

The warrior made a noise that might have been a chuckle, but the grille on his helmet distorted it into something ugly. Shepard had barely left the ground when he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up to meet his gaze.

"You have spirit, little one," the warrior said, his baritone voice colored by an accent that Shepard couldn't place. "The slaves of this world have no shortage of that, though you can still be made to work. I'll bring you back and make sure you—"

Shepard interrupted his speech by stabbing her broken cane into his helmet's organic eye. Corrupted blood spurted out, and the warrior roared in pain, but rather than simply drop her like she'd hoped, he slammed her into the hard ground. Whatever had brought her here must have only been able to cushion her landing once, because this time, it hurt. All the breath left her lungs at once, and she was left gasping on the ground.

The warrior stood over her, and she guessed that the rise and fall of his shoulders had more to do with rage than pain.

"You wounded me," he snarled. "You _will _pay for that, little slave…"

Shepard's eyes widened as he drew back one fist. She tried to move, but she was still stunned; the massive fist filled her vision, there was an explosion of pain, and then everything went black.

…

When Shepard came to, she was being dragged across a metal floor. An armored hand was wrapped around her head, and she suspected that even with her augmentations strengthening her bones, that hand had more than enough power to crush her skull.

Unable to turn her head to look around, Shepard only caught brief glimpses of wherever she was. She saw dark hallways, dimly lit by flickering lights, and tall archways guarded by men and women wearing patchwork armor whose colors bore a passing similarity to the warrior dragging her. Shepard couldn't be sure in the half-second she saw them, but she thought a few of them had mutations.

Rather than be worried, all Shepard felt was anger. She hated Chaos, and all the horror and pain it brought. More than Chaos itself, she hated the people who willingly gave up their souls to the Dark Gods. People like that were why Archaon had risen to power, and why Gregor had died. The thought made her snarl and punch at the hand that held her.

"Awake again, and still full of spirit," the warrior growled. This time, there was no amusement in his voice. "When you are broken, your pain will be all the greater."

"I don't break, asshole," Shepard promised. "I just get pissed off. When that happens, people die."

Unlike before, the warrior didn't laugh at her defiance. Instead, when they reached their destination, she was hurled to the ground. As she got to her feet and spat out blood, Shepard liked to think that she'd proven she would back up her threat.

"What is this?" a voice hissed. Shepard looked up and saw a figure that might have been human, but was far too tall, and far too thin. Its body was concealed by a dark cloak that brushed the floor, though Shepard saw three glowing red eyes beneath its hood, and metal arms poked out of the sleeves and clicked its fingers together. "You have brought me a new servant, Atranix." It tilted its head. "One that has bloodied you."

The warrior, Atranix, snarled. "She will serve in the mines, Kivyin. If she shows any signs of resistance, you will break her. Slowly. And I want to be there when she does."

Kivyin bowed. "As you command." Footsteps echoed loudly, and both Chaos-worshippers stiffened. "Warsmith Kharrack comes."

With a title like 'Warsmith', Shepard expected some kind of warrior-engineer, and she wasn't disappointed. The warrior that stepped into view was taller than even Atranix. His armor swirled like smoke behind glass, and two pipes that curled around his helmet's grille vented fire every few seconds. He carried a massive hammer that crackled with purple lightning, and a mass of metal tendrils framed around him like snakes poised to strike.

"Atranix," Kharrack said with a voice like grinding stone, "you were expected back from your patrol fifteen-point-six minutes ago. Why did you delay?"

Atranix's right fist crashed against the left side of his breastplate. "My apologies, Lord Kharrack, I was delivering a new slave to Kivyin."

Kharrack glanced down at Shepard, who glared right back. She wasn't so arrogant that she didn't feel fear, but she refused to let it defeat her.

"That one has spirit." Kharrack turned to Atranix. "Did it wound you?"

"A lucky strike," Atranix growled.

Shepard coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like _'bullshit'_. Atranix moved to strike her, but he was sent crashing to the ground by Kharrack's fist.

"Fool!" he shouted, his voice echoing painfully in Shepard's ears. "We are entering the final phase of our operations on Vigilus, and you waste your time on a single slave!" He turned to Kivyin. "Take her to the mines and get it over with. Atranix, if you are not in position in one hour, I will feed your wretched soul to the daemon-engines myself!"

Shepard felt a perverse satisfaction at seeing Atranix get laid out like that, but that quickly faded to fury when the warrior got back up. She saw a familiar top of a cane sticking out of a pouch on his belt—_her _cane, the last thing she had to remind her of Gregor. She reached out to grab it, but Kivyin was faster, and attached a thick collar around her neck.

"No more defiance," he whispered, and then all Shepard felt was pain.

…

"Wake up."

Shepard groaned and tried to bat away whoever was shaking her. Despite her mighty attempt at fending off her attacker, that person continued to shake her shoulder.

"Wake up, fool!" the person hissed. "If you don't move soon, you'll wish you were already dead!"

"I already do," Shepard growled, and forced her eyes open. Standing in front of her was an old man in rags even filthier than her own; in one hand, he held a pickaxe that sparked curiously. "Who are you, and where are we?"

The old man handed her another pickaxe. "The name is Grem. We'll talk while we work, but keep your voice down. Trust me, you don't want the overseers' attention."

For a moment, Shepard almost gave into despair. After everything she'd been through, all the pain and heartache, she'd thought she'd finally earned a peaceful end. Instead, she was on _another _planet, _another _reality, far from her family and captured by a force she had thought was destroyed decades ago.

_No, _she thought viciously, and shoved the despair into the deepest part of her heart. _I won't break. I will _never _break!_

Shepard's need for answers overruled her immediate desire to find these overseers, whoever they were, and show them just where she could put a pickaxe.

While she didn't know much about where she was, Shepard was able to figure out some information about her immediate predicament just by looking around. She was underground, in a large mine that was lit up by bright lights every few meters. All around her, men and women swung tools at stone; all of them looked malnourished and wore collars much like the one she now wore. The interesting thing was that, rather than look defeated, most of the miners had a defiant fire in their eyes—eyes that glared hatefully at the giant warriors who patrolled the entrance to the mine.

Grem guided her to one such mine shaft and began swinging at a slab of rock, seemingly at random.

"They just want us to work," Grem muttered. "They want to use our suffering to bolster their own power." He smirked. "It's not working as much. Our people are too devout to give in to these Chaos dogs."

Shepard nodded and swung at the spot next to Grem's. Unlike the old man's blow, her pickaxe barely scratched the wall.

"Turn on the power field," Grem chided, and pointed to a stud near the head of the pick. Despite her situation, Shepard actually felt embarrassed as she turned it on. The pick hummed in her hands, and the head glowed ever so slightly.

"So, this is going to sound weird," Shepard began, "but I'm not from this planet."

To her surprise, Grem nodded in understanding. "Ah. Brought in from off-world, were you?"

"Something like that," Shepard admitted. She really didn't want to go into the topic of coming from another universe—she'd already gone through it before.

"Well, we're on Vigilus, and by the God-Emperor, we've held out against the darkness for years." Grem's voice shook with devotion, even as he chipped away at the rock. "These heathens won't break us now, not after all we've been through."

_So, there's a God-Emperor? _Shepard frowned as another thought crossed her mind. _Well, gods exist, I believe that much. Could this 'God-Emperor' be that voice from before? What does he want with me?_

"How many people are down here with us?" Shepard asked.

"I'd say about two thousand, give or take," Grem said.

"And how many of the big guys?" Shepard pretended to stumble, but only so that she could point at the nearest giant.

"The Iron Warriors? They have better things to do than guard slaves. There can't be more than ten or so, plus maybe a hundred of their slave-soldiers." Grem side-eyed her, then shook his head. "Leading a revolt won't work. It's been tried, but the collars inflict horrible pain. We can't fight, but we won't break."

Shepard smirked. "Victory isn't impossible. I've escaped capture before, and that was when I was alone. You said there were two thousand people trapped here? That's a small army, and I've done more with less."

Grem's eyebrows rose. "You're serious."

"Of course I am."

Grem chuckled, though dust turned it into a cough. "What's your name?"

"Shepard." She looked at the pick in her hands, her mind already burning with ideas. "My name is Alexia Shepard, and I'm going to get us out of here."

**And we're off to the races!**

**So, a lot of people who read Honor-Bound thought that the story would focus on Shepard's descendants. You guys were… partly right. I mean, I had her distant descendant start the story out, but that's it. Shepard has left the Warhammer Fantasy universe, and is now in 40K. For those of you who are up to date with the current storyline, Shepard has arrived on the planet Vigilus, during the second half of the campaign, 'Vigilus Ablaze'. Warsmith Kharrack is actually canon, though Atranix and Kivyin are my own creations. There's no actual description of Kharrack, so I made up what he looks like.**

**Now, I will try to update as often as I can, but I'm very low on funds right now. In fact, I'm trying everything I can to not be homeless. Fortunately, there are ways that you—yes, you, person reading this on your device—can help me! First off, you can buy my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**. You can find a link to my site on my profile where you can buy it, or you can just look up my book on Amazon. You can also be really awesome and donate on P-atreon (link on my profile). If I get enough patrons, I'll be able to afford an apartment. And food. And insurance. But you don't care about that; what you do care about is that I will be able to update at least once a week!**

**Speaking of patrons, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank them here:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, Barrett Pittman, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Alexander James Baber, Carl Bjorkhall**

**Incredible Muffins: Christian Howard, RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Jaeger456, killroy225**

**Ultra Muffins: Jeffrey Perigo, RangersRoll**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the start to the continuation of Shepard's suffering!**

**Next Chapter: Shepard starts a revolution!**

**For the God-Muffin!**


	2. Uprising

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. WHERE'S MY BOLTER? THERE'S SOME HERESY THAT NEEDS A-PURGIN'.**

**First of all, I am blown away by the sheer amount of support this story has received. I've never had a story grow so fast from just the first chapter. I don't care if most of you probably came here straight from Honor-Bound, I'm still sincerely touched. So, yeah. Thank you.**

**Oh, so there's something I wanted to address. While I was introduced to 40K back when everyone was the Imperial Guard, Eldar, Dark Eldar, and so on, I will be using the names that Games Workshop uses now. I'm sorry if that bothers you, but I actually like the more original-sounding names, like Astra Militarum.**

**Anyway, back to Shepard doing what she does best: kicking ass and not knowing what the hell is going on.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 2

Uprising

Shepard had always been good at getting people on her side. Sometimes it required her to prove herself, while others just seemed to naturally align with her cause. Other times, people who wanted to use her for their own ends wound up joining her anyway.

The prisoners of the Iron Warriors seemed to fit into all of those categories to some degree. Most of them just wanted freedom from the forces of Chaos, and Shepard had enough drive and energy to entice them into following her. Others were more hesitant, either out of fear or exhaustion, but over several days, but when Shepard covered for them by doing at least part of their work, they pledged their support.

Unfortunately, despite Grem's claims that his people wouldn't break, there were a few slaves who were so afraid of the consequences of a revolt that they threatened to inform the Iron Warriors if they didn't stop. Shepard knew that her uprising would only have one chance of succeeding, and though she hated being so ruthless, she and the more committed of her followers murdered the others in their sleep.

When she wasn't secretly rallying a slave revolt, Shepard was learning what she could about… everything, really. She spoke to Grem about Vigilus, a gateway world that was on one end of a stable route through the scar in space called the Cicatrix Maledictum—otherwise known as the Great Rift—that the forces of the Imperium could use to safely travel.

That explanation opened up several others. Shepard learned what little she could about this Imperium, but most of what Grem told her was rhetoric the man had been force-fed his entire life. What Shepard was certain of was that the Imperium had once been a human-centric empire that had spanned almost the entire galaxy. Nearly two centuries ago—a rough estimate, since the Great Rift and respective ways of measuring time to various systems made such tracking impossible—the galaxy had been split in half by the Cicatrix Maledictum.

On one side, the Imperium was still strong, guided by the light of the Astronomicon, something like a lighthouse that allowed starships to properly navigate through another dimension, known as the Warp. This lighthouse was literally powered by the Emperor's soul; if that was true, and Shepard didn't have enough information to say that it wasn't, then it was no surprise that the Emperor was worshiped as a god. The other side of the galaxy, called Imperium Nihilus, was all but cut off from the Emperor's light, and could only be accessed by certain, stable routes. One of those routes, the Nachmund Gauntlet, had Vigilus as its Nihilus-situated system, was one of the most vital.

Apparently, the forces of Chaos knew this as well, which was why an enormous fleet, and even bigger army, was trying to close it. Grem had no idea how they would do such a thing—"Such thoughts lead to heresy," he'd said, and then spat off to the side—but Shepard assumed it would involve strengthening the part of the Rift immediately around the Nachmund Gauntlet. Basically, a reverse of what she'd done back home.

However it would be done, Chaos had been wreaking havoc all over the planet, and they weren't alone. Aliens had been doing substantial damage to the Imperium's forces before the Chaos invasion. There were alien-human hybrids that appeared from nearly every quarter, mysterious beings known as Aeldari and their cruel counterparts, the Drukhari—from the description, Shepard was reminded of the High Elves and Dark Elves—and the Orks.

Shepard wanted to groan when she heard about the Orks. They'd caused her no small amount of headaches back home, even when the Empire's technology advanced to the point that the greenskins were reduced to a nuisance.

For now, though, Shepard didn't have to worry about alien threats. She had a revolution to start.

…

"All right, we're keeping the objectives simple," Shepard whispered. She was lying on the floor, pretending to sleep, along with the other leaders. They had to be absolutely still, and only spoke in the softest of whispers. A slave near the door of the holding cell would nudge Shepard's foot with his own when he heard a patrol walk by, signaling her to be quiet.

"Step one is to disarm these collars," Shepard went on. Though she'd only been wearing it for a few days, her neck was raw from chafing. "This revolt won't get very far if they can shut us down with a push of a button. I'll need tools, though."

"I go by the cultists' maintenance station often," a woman whispered. "A few small pieces won't be missed."

"Good. Keep them hidden, and I'll see what I can do about keeping the collars from killing us." Shepard fought not to grin; after all, they were barely into the planning phase. Still, despite her situation, she'd missed the energy that came with youth; she hadn't felt so alive in decades! "Step two is making sure that we can actually fight. Those picks we use are plenty strong, so they'll work; the attack will have to be when we start working, so that we have enough energy. Also, when we begin our attack, we'll need to capture as many guns as we can; I don't like the idea of charging a firing line."

"I'll try to get them to distribute more of the picks," Grem offered. "I've been here long enough that the guards think I've broken. They won't suspect anything."

"Awesome. Step three is to contact friendly forces and tell them where to strike. We won't last long if the enemy sends reinforcements." If Shepard was being honest, she didn't know how well a bunch of slaves with mining gear would do against the Iron Warriors, so the sooner they had backup, the better. "Step four is providing them with coordinates for the enemy's artillery, if we can; if it's accurate, counter-batteries will silence them."

"I was a vox-operator in the Vigilant Guard," another man said. "If I can find one that's untainted, I should be able to handle it."

"Fantastic." Shepard was about to say more, but the lookout nudged her foot, and they all fell silent. Shepard waited until she received another nudge, and then she continued. "Listen, if things go bad and we can't get rescued, just head for the Imperial lines as fast as you can. Keep your hands above your heads and scream 'friendly' as loud as possible, and hope you don't get shot."

Shepard had no idea what the situation was like at the Imperial city—cities were called hives in the Imperium, and the one the Iron Warriors was attacking was called Mortwald—but she hoped that there was enough goodwill to give shelter to escaped prisoners.

"Wait, _that's _your backup plan?" the vox-operator asked.

"We don't have that many options," Shepard said. "However this ends, I'm not staying here any longer than I have to."

Everyone caught the unspoken part of Shepard's statement, and they agreed. They would rather die than be the enemy's prisoners. In a few days, they would all find out just how literal that phrase would be.

…

The first part of the plan went off without a hitch. Several tools were smuggled to Shepard, and a young woman volunteered to let her collar be examined, though Shepard warned her that it was a risk.

During the examination, Shepard came to the realization that while the technology of the Imperium was far more advanced than anything she'd ever seen, some aspects of human-made technology remained consistent. She couldn't quite understand how the collar's small power cell—barely the width of a fingernail—could generate the amount of energy necessary to do the damage it did, she did figure out what part was the receiver for the signal to activate. One removed wire later, and the collar could no longer hurt anyone; after Shepard shared her discovery and the smuggled tools, it took only two days to free the other slaves.

Of course, if an overseer decided to activate a collar anyway, the slaves would have to act out the pain they would have received. In a roundabout way, they were thankful that they had all witnessed someone else writhing in pain from the collars, so they were able to mimic the effect.

Shepard also took the time to do a little intelligence-gathering. She couldn't bring herself to believe that the Iron Warriors were forcing the slaves to dig just because it caused suffering. After asking around, she found her answer—the forces of Chaos were desperately trying to get their hands on a substance known as blackstone. Whatever it was, it was valuable to both sides, though the Imperium was extremely secretive about what it actually did.

In fact, the more Shepard learned about the Imperium, the more disheartened she became. She had never encountered a civilization so oppressive, and it was hard to imagine one like it ever existing. People who even knew about Chaos were often executed, loyal or not. Tolerance and understanding were replaced by hatred and blind dogma. She wished she could sit down with a comprehensive history of the Imperium to figure out how things had become so bad, but from the little she'd heard from Grem, she had a feeling that that history would be extremely edited.

Thinking about such things made her shake her head as she mined. _This really isn't the time or place for that kind of analysis. Still, if I get involved with this Imperium, I'd better keep my mouth shut about the way they do things. I don't want to get shot for heresy._

Shepard swung her pick at her section of the wall, and as she did, she noticed something glimmer amidst the stone. Carefully, so as not to alert the guards, Shepard dragged her power pick around the object to carve it free. At first, she thought the small chunk of rock was a piece of obsidian, though how it got there, far away from any volcanic activity, was a mystery. As soon as she picked it up, she felt something, almost like a spark, travel from her hand into the stone.

_Well, that's new, _Shepard thought, and quickly pocketed the thumb-sized stone before anyone noticed. _Going by the color, and the fact that it did _something _when I picked it up, I'm guessing it's the blackstone._

Grem, who had been hauling stone nearby, gave her a concerned look, but Shepard just shook her head. He hadn't seen the blackstone, and since it had no bearing on the uprising, there was no reason to tell him. Besides, as far as Shepard was concerned, it wasn't important.

In retrospect, she should have known that she'd be wrong about that.

…

Two more days passed, and Shepard felt that they would be as ready as they'd ever be. Unnoticed as they were, as long as they didn't cross the Iron Warriors, the slaves had gathered a great deal of intelligence to work with. By the time they were done, Shepard had been able to draw out a fairly accurate map of the Iron Warriors in the area, and had coordinates for the most important locations in the camp. Critically, they also had the location for the artillery their camp controlled; located at the center of the Iron Warriors' lines, taking out those cannons would help the Imperials drive a wedge in the Chaos forces.

"Remember, no second chances," Shepard said as she and the other slaves gathered up their tools. "It's do or die."

The slaves gripped their weapons nervously, but none of them faltered.

"Hey, you lot!" One of the Iron Warriors' cultists stomped up to Shepard's group. He held up a whip and cracked it over their heads. "Quit stalling and get to work!"

Shepard didn't hesitate; she grabbed the whip, pulled the cultist close, and then buried her power pick into his skull.

"Now!" she shouted, and charged the nearest group of shocked cultists.

"For freedom!" some slaves cried out. "For Vigilus!" others shouted.

Shepard's group only numbered twenty slaves, and the cultists had automatic stubbers, but they had surprise on their side. Shepard tackled one man to the ground and ripped out his throat with her pick, then grabbed his rifle—surprisingly, these solid-shot weapons were no more advanced than the latest ones she'd made for the Empire—and fired a burst into another. The other cultists barely got a shot off before being overwhelmed by desperate prisoners. Throughout the slave quarters, Shepard could hear similar situations playing out as her revolution began.

"If you can use a gun, take one!" Shepard yelled. She paused for a moment when she saw an eight-pointed star hanging from a chain on her appropriated rifle; with a scowl, she scraped it off with her pick.

Around her, other slaves were doing the same; many muttered prayers to protect themselves from Chaos, and a few even threw their captured weapons down in disgust. Shepard didn't have time to debate, and she knew the corrupting powers of items marked by Chaos, but she didn't feel anything herself. She figured that removing the icon had helped.

"Keep going!" she ordered. "Don't lose the momentum!"

Several cultist squads arrived to quash the rebellion, while others frantically tried to activate the slave collars. The slaves converged on these groups, and though dozens were gunned down, the cultists that weren't killed by return fire were overwhelmed by a tide of desperate people who beat them to death with mining tools or simply trampled them.

Most of the slaves weren't soldiers; Shepard was well aware of this, and how her 'army' was more of a mob. As such, she'd put the few real soldiers there in charge of various groups, though none of them were more than grunts. Still, it was better than nothing, and the civilians looked up to them enough to follow their orders—and since Shepard was the one who knew the most about what she was doing, they in turn followed _her _orders.

Shepard shot the last cultist as he tried to run, then waved her pick over her head to get her group's attention. "Grab as many explosives as you can!"

Grenades and other, less sophisticated explosives were stripped from bodies, and distributed to those who had an idea of how to use them. Further off, Shepard could hear the tell-tale boom as other groups set off their explosives; she just hoped that the more enthusiastic rebels hadn't done something stupid.

"Astartes!" one of her troops screamed, catching her attention. A moment later, there was a deafening bang, and torso of the woman who'd shouted suddenly exploded into a fine red mist. Two more people suffered similar fates before the first's dismembered parts hit the ground.

Shepard traced the shots back to their firer; it was one of the Iron Warriors, and it was one she recognized. Atranix's mutated eye-lens still hadn't completely healed. Shepard remembered the last time she'd left an enemy with a grudge alive, and she didn't want any repeats of Henrietta von Carstein.

"Open fire!" Shepard roared. She took careful aim with her stolen autogun and put a burst right between the Iron Warrior's eyes. Sparks flew as the bullets pinged off his helm, but there was no noticeable damage; the others who'd worked up the courage to actually fire on him had similar results.

_Well, fuck, _Shepard thought. She grabbed a grenade, primed it and let it cook in her hand for a second, and then hurled it at Atranix's head. He slapped it away with almost casual ease; when it detonated, only a few pieces of shrapnel bounced harmlessly off his shoulder.

_Okay, this might be harder than I thought._

When she hadn't been planning her uprising, Shepard had been studying the real threat to the operation—the Iron Warriors themselves. Unfortunately, she had no idea just how their power armor functioned, though she suspected that at least part of it had something to do with Chaos, judging by their mutations. She was aware that they had better senses than normal humans, since they seemed to lock onto her every time she so much as glanced their way. Still, there were some parts of armor that, by design, had to be weaker, such as the joints and neck.

As Shepard charged, she aimed her pick at Atranix's right knee. Like the last time she'd attacked him, he easily stopped her; this time, though, he did it by planting his boot into Shepard's chest. If not for Shepard's Cerberus enhancements, the casual move would have turned her ribs into powder. Regardless, Shepard was on the ground, breathless, with agonizing pressure as Atranix slowly leaned on her.

"This time, I'll make sure you die," the Iron Warrior rasped.

Even if she had the breath to talk, Shepard wouldn't have wasted her time with banter. She was desperate, and she was angry; Atranix was the reason she had been captured, and he'd taken the one memento she had of Gregor.

Shepard's hand desperately groped for her fallen pick, silently praying—to Sigmar or the God-Emperor, she didn't know—that the power field was still on. When she touched the handle of the power pick, she didn't hesitate; she brought it up and drove one point into Atranix's knee with all the force she could muster.

Hydraulic fluid mixed with corrupted blood sprayed out over Shepard's face, blinding her. The pressure on her chest ended as Atranix lost his balance and stumbled off her. Shepard felt a tug as her pick was almost ripped from her hand, but she kept her grip firm as she tried regaining her breath; there was a tearing sound as Atranix left behind more of his leg and part of his armor on the pick.

Shepard wiped her eyes clean and spat out foul liquid. She grinned with bloody teeth when she saw Atranix barely upright, and his left leg was only held together by a gory strand. Scrambling to her feet, she slammed her pick in an upward swing, into the Iron Warrior's armpit. The power field, meant to cut through thick rock and layers of metal, easily punched through the armor. With a grunt of effort, Shepard ripped through a large amount of armor and flesh, leaving Atranix's arm hanging limply at his side.

The Iron Warrior tried to bring his gun around, but with only one functioning leg, Shepard was able to avoid his line of fire. She then buried her pick into his backpack; the ruptured power source sparked and hissed like a living thing—and since it was corrupted by Chaos, it might well have been—before dying. Atranix howled in outrage as his armor stopped functioning, and he collapsed facedown.

Shepard carefully leaned down and rifled through his belt pouches for a moment. With a satisfied nod, she pulled her broken cane free to find it undamaged.

"I was worried for a second," Shepard said, her tone almost conversational as she slid the cane through a belt loop. "If you'd broken this, I wouldn't have done this nearly as cleanly."

Before Atranix could ask what she was talking about, Shepard buried her pick in his skull. She twisted it once, just to make sure he was dead, and then pulled it free.

"Y-you…" she turned to see her surviving followers staring at her in disbelief. One of them, a young man wearing a tattered uniform, but barely out of his teens, pointed at her. "You killed him."

Careful not to show how much pain she was in, Shepard made a show of casually leaning the haft of her pick against her shoulder. "I've killed a lot of people."

"You killed a _Traitor Astartes_!"

Shepard just shrugged. "And I'll probably kill more before the day is over. Now come on, we have work to do."

As Shepard turned to move back into the fray, no one noticed how her eyes briefly lit up with golden light.

…

Warsmith Kharrack scowled as yet another alert was brought to his attention. His campaign had been going so well, yet at the eleventh hour, it seemed that his siege was falling apart. He'd been able to handle the stubborn Imperial defenders, and was on the verge of completely crushing them, but then a fast-moving Aeldari force had struck his rearguard. No sooner had they vanished, as their kind was wont to do, had a large number of Orks hit the same place, and was now rampaging through his artillery.

"What is it now?" he asked as Kivyin handed him a dataslate.

"Forgive my intrusion, my Lord," the Dark Mechanicum agent said with a bow, "but the slaves in Outpost-Four-Alpha have revolted."

Kharrack's eyes narrowed as he focused on the indicated spot on his maps. "That is Atranix's location. Contact him and tell him to get those worthless mortals under control."

"I have already tried, Lord Warsmith," Kivyin said. "After my sixth attempt, I contacted one of his men. They report that he is dead, and the mortal soldiery there has been overrun. The remaining Astartes there are holding their ground, but I calculate that they will be overwhelmed in less than an hour."

"The slaves have their collars, yes?" Kharrack stood up, his lashing tendrils inches away from Kivyin's head. "Activate them!"

"I have also done that." Those words caused Kharrack to freeze. "There was no change. Either the collars were removed without triggering their explosives, or the signal never reached the receivers."

Kharrack snarled. A slave revolt was the last thing he needed, especially when there was no way to control them.

"Send a detachment to secure the area," he commanded. "I want those slaves dead and the mines manned within the hour!"

Yet another alert arrived at his command center, and he nearly crushed the daemonic servo-skull that delivered it, especially when he read the contents. With the Iron Warriors' artillery lessened, the Imperials were emboldened, and were counterattacking. At the rate things were going, he wouldn't have the numbers to hold them off _and _recapture the blackstone mine.

"Fine," he growled, and lifted his hammer, "I'll do it myself."

…

"Bombs away!" If Shepard sounded slightly maniacal as she said that, no one commented. After all, her words were followed by dozens of large explosions as mining charges were hurled at the Iron Warriors' position. From the way chunks of charred and bloody armor flew over the barricade, at least one of them had died.

"Um, Miss Shepard?" the young man from before cautiously tapped her elbow to get her attention.

"Yes? What is it, uh…?" Shepard realized that, other than Grem, she didn't know anyone's names. Likely because she was sure that most of them would get killed, and she didn't want to get too attached, but she couldn't just say 'hey, you' all the time.

"Hiral," the boy said. As if remembering that he was still a soldier, he saluted. "Guardsman Hiral Fenn, Ninety-ninth Vigilant Guard. Grem wanted me to tell you that someone made contact with Imperial forces over the vox."

"Please tell me there's some good news with that." She noticed that the boy was still saluting, and wondered if he knew that she wasn't even a soldier in the Imperium. "At ease."

Hiral's arm fell to his side and he shuffled in place. "Some? They just said that they would try to send forces to help us, but they're trying to keep the heretics out of the hive."

Shepard studied the boy. He had dark hair and tan skin that was barely visible under the grime that coated him. He was short, barely coming up to Shepard's shoulder, and he was thin from malnourishment.

She almost laughed; she'd been mentally calling Hiral a boy since meeting him, but she kept forgetting that, physically, she was barely older than he was. He'd started calling her 'Miss Shepard', or 'ma'am', as if she was an older officer; maybe she'd been using that old 'Commander aura', as some of the _Normandy _crew called it, which she'd used to get soldiers to follow her commands.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. "Just keep your head down and try to stay alive, okay?"

Hiral petulantly swiped at her hand, and then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Shepard spotted armored figures rising over the barricades. Without a second thought, she tackled Hiral to the ground.

"Down!"

The surviving Iron Warriors fired a withering barrage from their powerful guns. Most of the slaves they shot didn't even have time to scream before they were blown apart, and the survivors were so horrified by the brutal deaths that they almost forgot to return fire. By the time they did, and Shepard got to her feet, she tried to figure out how many people had just died. It was difficult to say, since there were so many pieces on the ground, but her best guess was a little over a hundred casualties in less than six seconds.

Her uprising was coming down to the wire. Where once she'd had over two thousand people at her back, the Iron Warriors' weapons had reduced them to only a few hundred. If their losses continued to mount, Shepard would order them to make a break for the Imperial lines; it meant crossing territory held by the Iron Warriors, but at least they had a chance.

"Shepard!" Grem hurried over to her as fast as his old legs could carry him. "There's a gunship heading for us!"

"Is it on our side?" Shepard asked, though something told her she wasn't that lucky.

Grem shook his head. "It has the enemy's unholy sigils!"

"Damn." Shepard glanced back at the Iron Warriors' barricade, and scowled. "All right, spread the word—we're getting out of here. Everyone needs to head to Mortwald! Now!"

A high-pitched whine was Shepard's first sign of the enemy's reinforcements. The second sign was a trio of missiles that fired into the largest concentration of rebelling slaves. There was a flash of light and heat, and Shepard was sent flying back. She'd been at the outer edge of the blast, but it was still enough to knock her out for what felt like several seconds, but it must have been longer, because a boxy gunship was landing nearby. Its front ramp opened with a hiss, and a dozen Iron Warriors and a familiar hooded figure stepped out.

Shepard recognized Kharrack and Kivyin, but the others were new. Each was heavily armed, and they were covered in mutations and other signs of the Dark Gods' 'favor'. The other Iron Warriors from the barricade linked up with their master, though Kharrack sent one to the ground with a backhanded swipe, likely as punishment for letting the uprising get so far.

Then the killing began in earnest. The closest slaves were cut down with blades or beaten to death with fists, while those further away were obliterated by accurate shots to the head or chest. In moments, the gore-filled camp became soaked with even more blood.

There was no escape. Shepard knew that none of them would make it out alive; the pitiful few who'd survived the missile strike were already being gunned down by the Iron Warriors. She wasn't in any shape to run, either—she was sure at least three of her ribs were broken, and she probably had a concussion.

Running was out. The only thing she could do was fight.

Shepard grabbed her pick, which had somehow landed nearby. If she was going to die, it would be on her feet, with a weapon raised.

Her free hand brushed the top of her broken cane. _Maybe I really will see you soon, Gregor._

It was then that Kharrack noticed her. His approach wasn't necessarily urgent, but it was far from casual.

"The slave that Atranix captured," he growled. "I have a feeling that you were the one who started this uprising. It is good that that fool is already dead, or I'd have him suffer a fate a thousand times worse."

"What're you gonna do?" Shepard asked tiredly. "Talk me to death?"

Before she could blink, Kharrack's tendrils lifted her up by the throat and limbs. Shepard struggled, but even her enhanced strength wasn't enough to break free.

"No, I plan to rip you apart," Kharrack said easily, as if he was discussing the weather.

"Get away from her!"

Shepard felt a spike of hope as Hiral raised his stolen autogun, only for it to be dashed when another of Kharrack's tendrils smashed the boy to the ground.

_So, this is how I die, _Shepard thought. _Killed by some Chaos super-soldier while I watch him murder a kid. Really not how I wanted to go out._

NOT YOUR TIME.

_Oh, not you again, _Shepard complained. _I fought, and now I'm about to die. Let me go, already!_

THERE IS MORE TO DO. WOULD YOU LET THE DARKNESS PREVAIL?

That wasn't fair, in Shepard's opinion. She wanted so badly to be released from the pain and fear, but she knew, deep down, that she wouldn't stop fighting if there was something that had to be fought, or someone to be protected. As she saw the tendril about to plunge into Hiral's chest, she closed her eyes, and she was reminded of a life she'd left behind.

_Eliza, crying in pain and grief, suffering more than anyone had any right to._

_David, her baby boy, undead fangs about to pierce his neck._

Not again.

Despite her injuries, Shepard felt a surge of energy, giving new strength to her battered body. More than that, she felt a rage like she'd only felt a few times in her life. That righteous fury fueled this strange power, and in turn, that power fed her anger.

Shepard opened her eyes. There was no white sclera, no bright green iris. Instead, her eyes glowed with golden light, a light that spread until the aura covered her entire body. Kharrack flinched as the light's presence burned him, but the tendrils that held Shepard up didn't just burn—they began to _melt_.

Shepard looked the Warsmith dead in the eyes, while beautiful wings of golden light sprouted from her back.

"Not. Again." Shepard's words were soft, yet they hit with the force of a cannon, and what remained of the tendrils holding her exploded. Wings outstretched, Shepard floated up until she was a few feet above Kharrack and raised her pick.

The Warsmith swung his hammer in a desperate attempt to kill Shepard first, but she was faster. The pick came down on his shoulder; the weapon, now covered in the same light as Shepard, didn't just pierce the armor plating, but caused it, and the arm it protected, to explode.

No one moved—not the Iron Warriors, nor the surviving slaves. Nobody knew how to react, until an old man, bleeding from a dozen mortal wounds, staggered to his feet.

"She is a saint," Grem wheezed. "A Living Saint!"

**And I'm going to be extra evil and end the chapter here. Amazingly, when I was discussing this story a while ago, I don't think anyone thought that Shepard would become a Living Saint. I'd considered other options (Inquisitor, Rogue Trader, even an Imperial Knight), but the more I thought about it, the more this option seemed best. I mean, she had a one-way chat with the Emperor, and considering all the crap that happened to her in Honor-Bound, especially the end… yeah, all hail Saint Shepard, Harbinger of the Emperor's Rage!**

**Now, there will be more to Shepard's Saint-powers, but they'll be explored later. Obviously, Shepard herself has exactly zero clue what being a Living Saint entails, but she'll find out.**

**Anyway, like I said at the beginning, I'm so thankful to all of you who are supporting this story. It means a lot!**

**If you'd like to help me publish chapters even faster, please consider supporting me by buying my book. There's a link to it on my profile, or you can go to Amazon and look up **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb.**

**Another way you can support me is donating via P-atreon (also a link in my profile). If I make enough to live on, I'll probably update something on this site at least once a week, if not more! This isn't me holding stories hostage, I'm just trying to find sources of income so that I can afford food, insurance, and not be homeless.**

**And now, I'd like to take this moment to thank my Patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Alexander James Baber, Carl Bjorkhall**

**Incredible Muffins: Christian Howard, RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Jaeger456, killroy225**

**Ultra Muffins: Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: The Saint arises, and her duty becomes clear.**

**My Muffin proves my worth!**


	3. Purity

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THE WINGS THAT I GREW LAST WEEK EITHER MEANS I'M A LIVING SAINT… OR I'VE BEEN LIVING NEAR THAT NUCLEAR POWER PLANT FOR TOO LONG.**

**I remember a conversation I had with some friends a while back about fandoms. Star Wars fans would love to be a Jedi. Star Trek fans would love to be in Starfleet. 40K fans are just fine with staying home. Considering the completely horrible shit that happens… yeah, I'll take my comfy chair, thanks.**

**Also, I'm going to admit something: if I **_**had**_** to live in 40K, I would much rather fight **_**any **_**of the various alien threats out there over fighting Chaos Space Marines. In lore, those frickers are stupidly hard to kill unless you outnumber them a hundred to one, or have a massive, totally-not-compensating-for-anything-don't-judge-me cannon to use.**

**At this point, Shepard has neither. Shepard has Living Saint-mode, and is motherfluffing SHEPARD.**

***ahem***

**Now then, let's resume our scheduled mayhem.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 3

Purity

The Chaos Gods did not comprehend fear as mortals did. Fear was an emotional response to danger, and the gods were above threats to their existence. That said, they were not above anger, especially when threats to their plans came into play. The recent reawakening of the Avenging Son, for instance, had briefly unified the gods in a way that rarely happened.

Only one being in this galaxy had come close to causing them fear. His power was so great that it burned away the forces of Chaos like a flame to a cobweb; it was little wonder that the denizens of the Warp called Him the Anathema.

Of course, He was just one being in one reality, and the Chaos Gods could influence many. Their plans had been delayed in some of them, and others were still in the process of being conquered. None of the Gods tried to dwell on the one place that had become immune to their clutches; after all, it was the exception to the rule that all things would fall under their sway.

And then, in a little nothing of a world, far from where it should be, there was a light. A light that was painfully familiar to the Dark Gods. Worse still, when the gods peered into the material realm and saw the soul who bore that light, it was one they recognized.

Across the Immaterium, four great voices screamed in rage. A thousand plans, handcrafted by Tzeentch and suspended in living crystal, shattered into dust. The endless swirl of emotions in Slaanesh's court paused. In Nurgle's garden, rotted plants grew and exploded into spores of flesh-eating diseases, while the remains withered into nothing. The eternal streams of blood in the realm of Khorne boiled, and the countless Daemons that warred there were stirred into a frenzy.

A name formed in the twisting nightmares of the Warp—a warning and a curse, all in one.

Shepard.

…

It was difficult to focus. It was all she could do to just keep her gaze steady. The endless rage made doing even that almost impossible.

Shepard was no stranger to anger. She'd felt it deep within her ever since the Batarians had killed her parents. It had gnawed away at her psyche like a rabid animal, always fighting to be released. She had rarely let that fury loose, usually against individuals that had truly earned her hatred.

Henrietta, for almost killing her son.

Archaon, for killing her husband.

This rage, however, had no target. It coursed through her like a storm, demanding release, but with no direction. In fact, the rage didn't even feel like her own; it was like a thousand voices were screaming out their anger directly into her ear, each driving her in a different direction.

_No, _she thought, barely able to hear herself. She remembered her lessons on anger from her N7 training. _I am in control. My anger is not a fire. It is a whetstone to keep my actions sharp and my blows decisive. I. Am. In. CONTROL!_

The blinding light that poured from her began to dim, until those around her could see her once again. Still floating on wings of light, she looked down at the Iron Warriors, who aimed their weapons up at her.

"Open fire!" Kharrack shouted.

Before the first could pull the trigger, Shepard raised her free hand and thrust her palm towards one. A beam of light lanced out and struck the Iron Warrior in the chest; he didn't even have time to scream before the front half of his torso and head burned to ash.

Shepard turned back to Kharrack, to finish what she started, but the Warsmith was retreating towards his gunship, and the other Iron Warriors began to fire. Acting on instinct, Shepard began to fly, weaving through the crossfire to avoid the explosive bolts. Now that they were actually fighting, the Iron Warriors fought smart; they'd already realized that Shepard would have a hard time killing them if she was on the defensive.

Before Shepard could figure out what to do next, there was a series of explosions as rockets fell around the Iron Warriors. A dozen aircraft flew in, engines screaming and launchers smoking, to hover over the camp. Unlike the Iron Warriors' vehicle, whose corrupted presence made Shepard uncomfortable, these bore a two-headed eagle that somehow seemed familiar to her, though she was sure she'd never seen it before.

Heavy-caliber weapons opened fire, driving the Iron Warriors back, while soldiers rappelled down from the gunships. Each man and woman wore thick plates of black, silver-trimmed armor over dark red fatigues, including full-face helmets with glowing green optics. They carried a variety of weapons, though most were sleek rifles connected to backpacks with thick cables. Their leader carried a large, glowing pistol in one hand, and a growling chain-bladed sword in the other.

"Engage!" the man barked.

Rifles were raised, and thin beams of red light shot out into the Iron Warriors. The concentrated firepower killed two of the massive soldiers in seconds, and the Iron Warriors were quickly forced back to the barricades that they'd only just abandoned. Only Kharrack and Kivyin headed for their gunship.

Shepard left the majority of the Chaos forces to the new arrivals; she was going to settle things with the Warsmith. She landed in front of the gunship's ramp and slowly walked inside; parts of the interior had been mutated by the energies of Chaos, with some cables looking more like intestines, and fangs growing around a pair of dials.

Despite his grievous injury, Kharrack was still standing, and even barking orders at Kivyin.

"We must get airborne," he said. "If the crews aboard my ships believe that I am dead, they will abandon us here!"

"Yeah, that doesn't say much for your guys," Shepard said; she tried to sound casual, even though the rage was still boiling.

Kharrack whirled, but before he could reach for a pistol, Shepard moved. Rather than use her pick, she drove her fist right into the Warsmith's abdomen; the blow left a sizeable dent, and sent Kharrack staggering back.

Hisses and mechanical clicks were heard under Kivyin's cloak, and dozens of whip-thin mechanical arms swarmed out to attack. Their razor thin blades left cuts all over Shepard's body, but her anger pushed her through the pain. She plunged her hand into the depths of his cloak, and when her fingers wrapped around something soft, she yanked it out.

"N-no…" Kivyin gasped as Shepard held his still-beating heart, connected to his body by several thick cables. Without a word, Shepard squeezed until the filthy organ was crushed to a pulp. Kivyin twitched madly, and then collapsed; what was left of his heart was contemptuously dropped to the floor a second later.

As Shepard turned to deal with Kharrack, she noticed something on the floor. It was the small piece of blackstone that she'd mined; Kivyin must have sliced open her pocket, and the stone had fallen out. A slight nudge in the back of her mind, barely felt over the anger, made her kneel down and pick it up.

"You…" Shepard glanced back at Kharrack. He was badly wounded, but his bleeding had stopped, and he still carried his hammer. "You will not be what kills me, mortal!"

Shepard felt something gently push her arm up, the one that held the blackstone fragment, until her fist was pointed at Kharrack. Golden light ran down her arm, coalescing just in front of her, swirling faster and faster. A bolt of energy lanced out, far brighter than before; when it hit Kharrack, there was a blinding flash and a roar of pain from the Warsmith. Even Shepard had to shield her eyes from the light.

When her vision returned to normal, Shepard was shocked. Somehow, the Chaos mutations inside the gunship were… gone. Everything was still dark and depressing, and there were Iron Warriors icons scattered about, but there were no mutations or other signs of Chaos.

The same could be said for Kharrack. His armor was no longer warped and twisted, though he was still missing his arm and shoulder. Instead of melted tendrils on his back, he had a single damaged mechanical arm with a two-pronged grip.

"What?" Kharrack looked down at his remaining hand in shock, and then at Shepard. "What did you _do_!?"

Shepard was no less surprised, but she still had work to do. "I just beat the Chaos out of you. Too bad for you, I'm not done."

With a savage swing, her pick was buried into Kharrack's other shoulder. Weakened as he was, the Warsmith's struggling was feeble as Shepard dragged him outside with her pick. She wrenched her weapon free and kicked him down the gunship's ramp, then dropped it so that she could use both hands to force Kharrack to look at the bodies around him.

"Look at what you did," she growled. "All this suffering, all this death—what was it for!?"

Even with his helmet on, it was obvious that he was confused. "I… don't remember anymore."

"That's not an excuse, you son of a bitch." With a vicious twist, Shepard snapped his neck, and dropped his lifeless body on the ground.

All around her, the fighting had stopped. The Imperial forces had killed the last of the Iron Warriors, though more than a few of them had been killed in exchange. It was hard to tell what the Imperials were thinking, but all of them were staring at her with their blank-lensed gazes.

A cough broke the silence. Shepard turned and saw Grem, bleeding out on the ground. Pity for the old man that had been so kind to her finally caused her rage to fade; Shepard's wings and golden glow faded as she hurried to his side.

"Y-your Holiness," the old man gasped. "You came to deliver us."

Shepard wasn't about to crush a man's beliefs as he lay dying… especially if he turned out to be right.

"Yes, I did." Shepard helped him into a more comfortable position, and took his hands in hers. "You won't die a slave."

"Thank you…" Grem smiled, and then the life left his eyes, and his hands slipped from hers.

Shepard gently closed his eyes, and then stood up and turned to the soldiers. "Is anyone else alive?"

The Imperial officer cocked his head, then pointed to Hiral. "Just that one, Your Holiness."

The young Guardsman took one look at Shepard, and then prostrated on the ground. "Blessed be the Saint that avenges the fallen and smites the heretic…"

Shepard knelt and pulled Hiral to his feet. "I appreciate the faith in me, but now really isn't the time." She glanced back at the soldiers. "Introductions would be nice. And drop the 'Your Holiness' thing. 'Ma'am' will do just fine."

The officer saluted. "Ma'am. Tempestor Prime Jonah Vils, Seventh Deltic Scorpions."

Shepard closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to fall back into her 'commander' mindset again. "What's the situation, Vils?"

"Can't say for the wider campaign, but our counterattack hit the artillery attacking Mortwald," Vils reported. "The enemy attacking the hive is falling back or being destroyed."

"Good to hear. I have a feeling I'll need to speak to whoever is in charge before I make another move."

"Agreed, ma'am. You're a Living Saint, and that tends to get attention."

"Story of my life," Shepard muttered, then looked down at herself. "Before that happens, I think I should make myself presentable."

"We can grab you some extra fatigues on the way to the Vigilus Senate," Vils offered, then looked at Hiral. "What about the boy?"

"He's with me," Shepard said immediately. "He survived when no one else did. There has to be a reason for that."

Vils was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "As you say, ma'am." He turned to his troops. "Back on the Valkyries! We're packing it in!"

A medic gently but firmly ushered both Shepard and Hiral into a gunship. Just before the doors closed, Shepard looked back at Grem's body.

_Rest in peace, _she thought. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and prayed for his soul, and the souls of all the slaves who had died fighting for their freedom. With her eyes closed, she didn't notice the halo of light that briefly flickered around her. When she opened them again, Hiral and the other soldiers were staring.

"What?"

…

The hive Shepard was taken to was called Hyperia. While almost every sector of Vigilus was under attack, Hyperia was the only hive that was considered firmly under Imperial control. More resources had been put into its defense than any other, not just because it was the seat of government, but also because it had more holy sites and tactical significance than the other cities.

When Vils had informed whoever was in command—something called the Vigilus Senate—that he was bringing in a Living Saint, there was a scramble of activity. Dozens of aircraft, ranging from interceptors to gunships much like the ones the Iron Warriors had used, formed up around the Valkyries, with strict instructions not to deviate from their flight path.

_At least they're not slacking when it comes to security, _Shepard thought. _Even if they're really religious, they probably want to make sure I'm not some double agent or something. I'd do the same thing in their position._

Shepard was just glad that they'd stopped at an Imperial outpost to get her presentable. Her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, and most of them were hidden by the grey fatigues she'd been provided. Hiral had also been cleaned up, and given olive fatigues of the Vigilant Guard, as well as black armor for his chest, shoulders, calves, and a helmet. He wasn't allowed a weapon yet, though Shepard still kept her pick.

While she was adjusting to her new shirt, she saw one of Vils' men—a type of elite infantry called Tempestus Scions—reach for her broken cane, which lay amidst her discarded rags.

"Do you enjoy having hands?" Shepard asked mildly.

"Uh… yes?" the man replied, as if it was obvious.

"Then don't touch that." Shepard snatched up the cane and placed it securely at her side through her belt.

As the gunships landed, Shepard had expected to be let out immediately. With a planetary war going on, she figured the higher-ups would want to get their meeting with her over with as soon as possible, Living Saint or not. Instead, they were instructed to wait while a 'proper escort'—which she interpreted as a security force—was assembled to meet them.

While they waited, Shepard nodded at Vils—specifically, at his sword. "Never seen a weapon like that before."

Vils hadn't removed his helmet, but Shepard imagined that he was raising an eyebrow. "Standard-issue chainsword, ma'am. Nothing fancy about it."

_Shit, make up an excuse! _Shepard shrugged casually. "My world was more primitive when it came to close-quarters weapons. No chain-weapons, just solid steel."

Vils nodded. "Understood, ma'am." He hesitated, then held out the chainsword, hilt first. "It's a little heavier than it looks."

Shepard carefully took the chainsword from him, and was surprised by the weight. She could still hold it in one hand, but it took a moment to adjust. As she examined it, she noticed a trigger mechanism built into the handle; obviously, the weapon would have to be revved manually, or it would run constantly and burn itself out before getting any use.

"Must be a pain to clean," she remarked, looking at the teeth, and grimaced at the idea of chunks of meat wedged between them and the outer casing. "And messy."

"It can be," Vils admitted. "You learn how to unclog it quick."

"I'll bet." Shepard handed the chainsword back, and then leaned against the door. "So, how long have you been stationed here?"

"Six months. We didn't have much to do until the Orks showed up, and then the cults started attacking."

"Cults?" Shepard frowned. "Chaos cults?"

Vils shook his head. "No, thank the Emperor. These ones are half-xenos freaks that are trying to overthrow the Imperium here."

"And that happened before the Iron Warriors attacked?"

"The Iron Warriors, and what feels like every other Chaos Legion this side of the Eye of Terror." Vils made a warding gesture with one hand. "It's a good thing that Lord Calgar's plan worked; their flagship was damaged and forced to retreat just a few days ago. The rest of their forces have been fleeing the planet, or have been routed."

Shepard had begun making a mental list of things she needed to understand, such as this 'Eye of Terror'. There were so many things that she just didn't have context for; she wished she had a history book to read. At least she understood military strategy, though it had been decades since she'd worked with technology as advanced—or more so—as she'd had when she'd been part of the Systems Alliance.

"So, it looks like I showed up at the tail end of things," Shepard remarked.

Vils snorted. "There's still plenty of xenos forces running around, causing problems. The cults, the Orks, and Aeldari forces here and there."

Hiral finally worked up the courage to speak. "At least we've held them back. It could be worse."

One of the Scions groaned, and Shepard slapped her forehead. "You did _not _just say that."

"Say what?"

"Never say 'it could be worse'," Shepard said. "That's just inviting the universe to throw something horrible your way."

"She's right, lad," Vils agreed. "We've got enough problems on this planet, we don't need to tempt the universe into giving us more."

Hiral grimaced and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Thankfully, before Hiral could be berated further, they received the go-ahead to exit the Valkyrie. The door hissed open, and Shepard blinked as the bright lights broke through the darkness of the gunship's interior. What she saw outside had her hand twitch towards her pick.

Twenty-one giants waited at the end of the landing pad, and for a moment, Shepard thought they were like the Iron Warriors. Each was huge, even bigger than the Chaos Marines she'd fought; they were easily three meters tall, if not taller. However, these didn't bear the corruption of Chaos; each wore blue armor, with gold two-headed eagles on their chests, and a white upside-down omega on their left shoulder plates. They carried large versions of the weapons the Iron Warriors had wielded. Their eye-lenses glowed red, but rather than glare hatefully at her, Shepard could sense that they merely watched her. They would only act if she acted.

Standing between the two columns of ten warriors was what Shepard assumed was their leader. His armor was similar to the others', but more ornate, and instead of a rifle, he had a large pistol holstered on one hip, while a sword nearly as long as Shepard was tall rested on the other. His helmet had laurels carved around it, so ornate that the leaves almost looked real.

"The Ultramarines," Vils said softly. "With all that's going on, I didn't expect so many of them here." He glanced at Shepard. "Even for a Saint."

Shepard looked at the Ultramarines again, and realized that they were probably here because they weren't in any shape to go out and fight. Their armor was still beautifully made, but each of them had taken bad hits, and rents in cobalt plate had been hastily filled in with some kind of sealant.

The Ultramarine officer stepped forward; he first nodded at Vils, and then at Shepard. "You are the Living Saint?"

Shepard was slightly taken aback at his voice; it was deep, like the Iron Warriors' voices, but there was a righteous nobility behind it, rather than bitterness.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Shepard said. "I'm not sure what a Living Saint is supposed to be, though."

If she'd been expecting a laugh, she was disappointed. "I am Lieutenant Eothrus, of the Ultramarines Second Company. We will escort you to Lord Calgar, and he will decide how you will be useful." He held out his hand. "Your… weapon."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, even as she handed over her pick. "You don't have to be snide. I killed Chaos Marines with that thing."

Eothrus inclined his head slightly; Shepard figured that that was the closest she'd get to an apology. "Follow us."

Shepard and Hiral were brought to the center of the Ultramarines that formed up around them. Of the Tempestus Scions, only Vils followed, likely to corroborate—or refute—Shepard's story.

As they walked, Shepard came to realize the scale of the universe she'd stumbled into. Most of the hive was concealed by clouds of dust, or the Ultramarines that surrounded her, but what she could see astounded her. Gothic-themed buildings, larger than anything she'd thought possible, rose from the clouds, all decorated with carved skulls or sculpted eagle heads. The resources needed to create even one of those structures would have been enough to get a large colony started in Alliance space, and she spotted dozens, maybe hundreds, stretching off into the horizon.

Shepard could say with some confidence that she was not easily shaken. Even dying and being brought back to life by Cerberus hadn't thrown her off her game for long. However, the idea that a civilization could outshine the greatest of the Alliance's cities with one war-torn example on _a single planet _rattled her.

As the Ultramarines led her into the decorated halls of the Vigilus Senate, the entourage was expanded. More Tempestus Scions, other Space Marines with different-colored armor, and dozens of armored women with weapons similar in form—if smaller in scale—to those of the Space Marines joined in the procession.

Shepard wanted to make some kind of smart comment; it was one of two ways that she typically dealt with stressful situations that couldn't be solved with violence. However, she had a feeling that being a smartass would cause even more problems, so she fell back to her other option, and studied the architecture of the building's interior as she walked. Years of engineering, and later, studying Dwarf-craft, had honed her mind into an analytical machine, and she studied the high arches of the hall with a practiced eye.

One thing she quickly realized was that the building had to have some kind of reinforcing element that she couldn't see, because the structure would have been defying the laws of physics otherwise. The building was simply too large to be standing naturally.

A whirring, wheezing noise caught her attention next, and she nearly gagged when she saw its source—a half-naked torso and head of a man walked by on stilted, mechanical legs. Its left arm and the left side of its head were replaced by clunky machines, and the optic that replaced its eye glowed with a baleful red. The exposed flesh was pale and withered, as if it was slowly dying. If the creature—Shepard couldn't completely come to terms with the fact that it was human—was aware of what it was, or cared, it didn't show it on its slack face.

_What the fuck am I looking at? _Shepard thought with no small amount of horror. _No one else is freaked out by that, so is this normal here? Why!?_

She knew that she couldn't afford to be distracted now, so she filed this latest discovery away for later, though it was difficult.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, Shepard was brought to a final set of massive doors, which opened with a deafening groan. The room beyond the doors was dimly lit, but Shepard could still easily see the many people sitting or standing inside.

As she'd expected of an organization called the Vigilus Senate, there were men and women in fine clothing and aristocratic bearing, but they were actually in the minority. There were more Space Marines, each with ornate armor and weapons; many showed signs of recent battle, and a few had wounds that couldn't have been taken more than a few hours ago.

At the center of the assembly was a giant of a man, bigger than any of the other Space Marines she'd seen. He had greying hair and lines on his face, and though his left eye was replaced by a bulky cybernetic, his right blazed with determination. His armor was heavily damaged, but even rent and torn, the royal blue and gold plate was stunning.

More than just his armor, the man himself was injured. He was armed with two massive gauntlets that had mounted guns, but one of them had been removed, and a hunched figure in red robes was repairing it. Two of its fingers had been severed, and the gauntlet's owner was also missing the same digits.

Upon entering the chamber, all conversation ceased, and everyone turned to look at Shepard as she was brought inside. Rather than be cowed by the ranks of nobles and demigods, Shepard marched in like she was on a parade ground, eyes straight and shoulders squared. She kept her gaze locked on the lead Space Marine, never breaking eye contact as she walked. Apparently, her attitude was enough that the normal humans were murmuring, but the Ultramarine held up his undamaged gauntlet, and the room fell still.

"I am Marneus Augustus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines," he said in a deep, patrician voice. "You must be the one who claims to be a Living Saint."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "My name is Alexia Shepard. To be honest, I don't know if I really am a Living Saint, but people keep calling me that."

Calgar's eye flicked over to Vils, who saluted and brought over something that reminded Shepard of a datapad. Calgar read its contents; for the most part, his expression remained almost bored, but at one point, he looked astonished.

"Is this true?" he demanded, looking Shepard in the eye. "Did you purge the corruption out of a champion of Chaos?"

Shepard nodded. "If by 'purge', you mean 'beat the Chaos out of him', then yes."

Whispers started up again, but this time, even the other Space Marines joined in.

"So… I'm guessing this is new?" Shepard asked.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Calgar admitted. "Whether or not you are truly a Living Saint is a matter of debate for others, but if you yourself are untainted by Chaos…"

"It's never bothered me before," Shepard said confidently. It was true; even Archaon had been unable to kill her.

Calgar nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, all I have is your word, and the report of a man who could have been deceived." If Vils was offended, he didn't show it. "You must be tested to see if you are truly pure."

Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard saw Hiral flinch. She took a deep breath. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"Yes, it will."

Shepard sighed. "Let's get on with it." She glanced at Hiral. "Just be nice to the kid, okay? He hasn't done anything wrong."

"If he is truly innocent, he has nothing to fear," a new voice said in a whisper. A man stepped out of the shadows; his face was concealed by a featureless mask, and he wore power armor, but sized for a normal human. The unpainted grey armor was mostly unadorned, save for a stylized 'I' on his chest. "And if you are truly a Living Saint, a small amount of pain will be nothing in service to the Emperor."

_I don't _want _to be in service to this Emperor, _Shepard thought fiercely. _I didn't ask for any of this!_

Rather than say something that would get her killed, she just nodded. "Lead the way, uh…"

"Strakk," the man said. "Inquisitor Giovonne Strakk, of the Ordo Hereticus."

More than one person in the room looked surprised that the man was there; he was obviously a stranger to all of them. Shepard raised an eyebrow. _No one expects the Imperial Inquisition._

…

The process for confirming one's Sainthood was as painful as Shepard suspected. It began by taking her to a room that looked like a cross between a laboratory, a church, and a dungeon. First, she was strapped to a chair by a pair of heavily armed guards, and then someone in long, red robes entered and slowly circled her. Judging by the many taps she heard on the metal floor, the being had feet that no normal human would have—feet that were made of metal, and more than one pair.

The person peered at her through red-lensed goggles; she could faintly hear a wheezing sound coming from the mask-like respirator around their mouth. She winced when a static-like noise screeched out; the person leaned back, and the noise abruptly stopped.

"Apologies," the person—the voice indicating they were female—said through a crackling speaker. "I occasionally forget that not everyone speaks the Techna Lingua."

"Not a problem," Shepard said, not wanting to make this cyborg woman upset, especially when she saw that the hand that now poked out from her sleeve was replaced by a contraption covered in needles.

"I am Traffis-Beta-Four," the woman said, "Magos Biologis of Stygies VIII. I will be examining your organic essence to see if you are genetically pure."

Shepard would have leaned away from the off-putting woman, but she couldn't move. "I hope that means you won't be opening me up, Traffis."

"We are in a professional setting here," Traffis said in a tone that reminded Shepard of a teacher reprimanding a student. "Address me as Magos." She drew herself up. "And while I do very much wish to examine the inner workings of a Living Saint, I have been informed that time is of the essence. A simple blood test will suffice, for now."

A pair of thin cables snaked over Traffis' shoulder; in one small pincer was a piece of cloth, while the other held a bottle. A small amount of liquid was poured onto the cloth, and Shepard recognized the scent of rubbing alcohol. Her arm was swabbed, and then Traffis drew a few vials of blood with her needle-fingers. There was a clicking sound from inside her chest, and her lenses glowed.

"I must confirm with my main cogitator, but my preliminary analysis shows no corruption or mutation in your genome," Traffis said. She almost sounded disappointed. "In fact, you are one of the healthiest specimens that I have ever seen. Wait here for the final analysis, but I calculate that you have more tests to complete."

_That was… abrupt, _Shepard thought as Traffis shuffled away. _She makes me think of Legion, if he was scatterbrained… and a girl._

For what felt like hours, Shepard was left alone, listening to the sounds of bubbling chemicals and humming machinery. Occasionally, she would hear explosions from far-off combat, though still powerful enough to be heard in her strange cell.

Finally, the doors opened again, and Inquisitor Strakk walked in. He still wore his mask, and Shepard couldn't get a read on him.

"You are a mystery," Strakk said without preamble. "According to the Magos, you show no signs of corruption, but you have had genetic modification done in the past. Well within Imperial tolerance for such things, but quite advanced. There were also subtle cybernetic components weaved into you. Tell me—just what have you gone through?"

Shepard closed her eyes and said nothing for a moment. "I've had friends die, and I've watched worlds burn. Everyone I've ever loved is either dead, or so far away that they might as well be. I've fought in wars, I've seen death, and no matter how hard I try to find some peace, I keep getting drawn back to it all." She opened her eyes, and Strakk saw the decades of pain that attacked her soul, but could never break her. "Everything else is a story that isn't mine to tell."

Strakk folded his arms across his chest. "Most people who hide things from the Inquisition find that that is a mistake."

"Most people can't purify someone tainted by Chaos," Shepard reminded him. "Do you really want to lose that kind of asset?"

Now it was Strakk's turn to be silent, until his threw his head back and laughed. "Pragmatism is an interesting approach, Alexia Shepard. Some within the Inquisition would rather kill you than let you keep your secrets. However, I recognize the value of your abilities, and the Lord Commander has issued more than one decree that anything pure than can fight the Great Enemy is to be utilized. Keep your secrets, but be warned that if your secrets become a threat, I will personally pry them from your mind before you die.

He chuckled when Shepard blanched. "I have determined that you are not corrupted, but there is one more test. Living Saints represent a part of the God-Emperor, and your faith will reveal if you are truly an avatar of His will." Strakk rose and turned to leave. "Good luck. Perhaps we will meet again."

Shepard rather hoped that they didn't.

Once again, she was left in isolation. She spent her time trying to understand some of the esoteric technology scattered throughout the room, though without a thorough examination, all she had were a few educated guesses. After yet another long wait, the doors opened again; this time, an armored woman strode in, followed by a portly man in white, gold-trimmed robes, and a handful of hooded men and women who carried a set of books.

Shepard recognized the armored woman; she'd been in the Vigilus Senate, and had been among those who had been the most interested in her supposed sainthood. She was tall, with long white hair, and her left eye was replaced by bulky cybernetic. Her black armor was damaged, though it had undergone repairs, and the fleur-de-lis decorated nearly every plate. Mounted on top of the power generator on her back were a pair of burning braziers; between them was the icon of the Inquisition.

The man, however, was a mystery; if he had been present at the Vigilus Senate, Shepard hadn't seen him. A thick cable wound up from a humming box on his back up through one nostril. He carried a weapon that looked like a cross between a staff of office and a flanged mace, and had a pistol holstered at his hip.

The woman gave Shepard a stern look. "I am Temperance Blaise, Canoness Superior of the Order of Our Martyred Lady."

"And I am Confessor Hadrian Rex," the man said. His tone was friendlier, but the suspicion in his eyes told Shepard that he wasn't necessarily an ally. "We represent the Ecclesiarchy, and we are here to judge your faith in the God-Emperor."

_Crap, _Shepard thought. _I don't know anything about this faith. What am I going to do?_

"And how is that going to happen?" Shepard asked. "I didn't really need to do anything for the last two tests."

The Confessor glanced at the Canoness Superior and nodded. Blaise tapped a button on a nearby console, and the restraints around Shepard withdrew. Shepard had barely sat up to massage her sore wrists, when she saw both of her judges rest hands on pistols.

"I'm not going to try anything, I swear," she promised.

Hadrian Rex nodded and smiled congenially. "Of course. Forgive our reactions, but this war has been rather taxing."

Shepard realized she had an opening, and took it. "Hey, if I was in your position, I'd be suspicious too. If it makes you feel better, you can even draw those guns."

There was a flicker of surprise across their faces. Shepard knew that by inviting them to be suspicious would show that she was confident in her own innocence—she hoped, anyway.

"On to your test," Blaise said, and gestured sharply to the people behind her. They reverently placed the items they held onto the ground, and then stepped back. "Every Living Saint has represented some aspect of the God-Emperor. Choose a text and read the first thing that you find."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That seems kind of… random."

Hadrian Rex chuckled. "Not if you are guided by the will of the God-Emperor. We will know if you are guided… or not."

_Great, a spiritual test. At least Michael never pulled crap like this. _Shepard sat down in front of the texts and closed her eyes for a moment. _Hey, Emperor, you there? Your so-called Saint could use a little guidance. I don't want to be burned at the stake or something._

For an instant, the golden aura returned, but by the time Shepard opened her eyes, it was gone. She was too focused on the texts in front of her to notice the awe on everyone's faces.

Shepard reached out with one hand; she was about to grab a scroll in front of her, but a nudge in the back of her mind made her shift to a tome on her right. She opened the book and began flipping through pages, not even glancing at what she passed. Finally, she froze, her finger hovering over a passage—hardly a passage, she realized, but more of a quote.

"Well?" Blaise demanded, though her voice was softer than before.

When Shepard spoke, it felt like she was in a daze. "Where there is an enemy, rage! Where there is a victory, rejoice!"

The Confessor nodded. "The writings of Epistles. Do you know why you chose that piece?"

Shepard hesitated, not because she didn't have an answer, but because she could feel the fury from before boiling in her soul again.

"I've fought in wars before," she said quietly. "It took me a long time to figure out why I fought so hard. It wasn't just because I wanted to protect others. I was _angry_; so many want us all dead, and all we want to do is live our lives." She looked up at them, and her eyes glowed gold as she spoke words that were not her own. "Every time an enemy shows its face, it means that we lose another day of peace. Victory buys us that peace back, but at the cost of lives that don't deserve to die at the hands of darkness." Her voice began to change to a double-tone. _"Those who try to destroy Humanity will learn true fear, for my wrath will be unleashed!"_

There was a pulse, and everyone around her took a step back. A second later, and the light around Shepard faded, and her voice returned to normal.

"What… was that?" she asked. She looked down at her hands, and found them trembling.

"A sign," Blaise whispered.

"A _possible _sign," Hadrian Rex corrected. "We will know the truth in time."

"Wait, I thought this was over," Shepard protested.

The Confessor laughed. "You had three tests today, Alexia Shepard. There will be many more before we are satisfied, and each will be more trying than the last… and more painful."

"Oh." Shepard quickly thought of as many insults as she could, and hoped the Emperor could hear them. "Goody."

…

Days passed, and then weeks. More tests were performed, examining everything from Shepard's blood to her bone structure. She was questioned, again and again, and she was forced to bare her soul to her interrogators. Her faith was examined, but that became the easiest, for every answer was handed to her by the Emperor; she always chose the right text to read, or the right answer to give.

Finally, it was over. Shepard was given a day to rest and become presentable, and then she was brought before the Vigilus Senate once again. Unlike before, she was wearing only a white robe, and a gold chain around her neck, which held a pendant shaped like the Imperium's two-headed eagle, the Aquila.

"Greetings," Hadrian said with a bow to the assembled lords. "After much examination, we have come to the conclusion that this woman, Alexia Shepard, has indeed been blessed by the God-Emperor! She is truly a Living Saint!"

The Space Marines muttered amongst themselves, and Marneus Calgar—now much healed since the last time Shepard saw him—leaned forward in his seat.

"And what does out newest Saint desire?" he asked.

Shepard looked him in the eye. She was exhausted, but her will remained strong. "I was brought here because our enemies need to be fought. That's what I'm going to do, but I can't do it alone."

Temperance Blaise raised her arms. "We shall call for Imperial forces to rally at Vigilus. Saint Shepard has declared a Crusade!"

**Oh, sweet Emperor, I'm sorry this took so long. The second half of the chapter did not want to be written. I've also been having RL-problems over the last couple of weeks, so I feel like that's fair.**

**Anyway, Shepard is now officially declared a Saint. If I got the process wrong, forgive me, but the details of the process of being declared a Saint are frustratingly vague. Mostly it involves the Ministorum and Inquisition testing the so-called Saint, but beyond that… *shrugs*.**

**Now, while Shepard has officially declared a Crusade, this is 40K. Things tend to take a while to get started, so don't expect all of Shepard's forces to arrive for a while. She's still got business to take care of on Vigilus, and maybe some other stuff, like learning about the Imperium and the many factions within it. However, I did use this chapter to introduce a few characters, canon and OC, who will be joining her.**

**Also, yes, the Ultramarines were here. They were actually on Vigilus, and were important. I'm tired of people hating on the Ultramarines. They're not as bad as people make them out to be, and poor Marneus did get wrecked by Abaddon, despite getting upgraded to a Primaris Marine.**

**Anyway, I'll try to have the next chapter out sooner, but as I've said before, I'm desperately searching for a job, but no one is hiring me. If you want to help me out, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. There's a link to my website on my profile, and you can also find it on Amazon.**

**If you want to be awesome, please consider supporting me on P-atreon (also a link in my profile). Every little bit helps get me closer to my dream of writing fan fiction every day.**

**And now, I'd like to thank my patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Carl Bjorkhall**

**Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225**

**Ultra Muffins: Vlarto, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Shepard discovers just how important her new powers are.**

**The Muffin Crusade begins!**


	4. Light

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I'M A LITTLE WORRIED ABOUT THE GENESTEALERS IN MY BASEMENT. THEY SEEM TO BE MULTIPLYING.**

**For those of you who don't know, it takes a long time for word to spread through the Imperium about a Crusade, not to mention assembling forces and deploying them. Obviously, Shepard isn't going to just sit around for the next few months.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 4

Light

For the first time in weeks, Shepard awoke not in a featureless cell, but a well-furnished room, in a comfortable bed. Per her request, it was not covered in opulence, but it was still more than a common soldier would ever hope to receive. If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend that she was back in Nuln; she would have to get up soon and help Eliza with another project, and Gregor's knights needed—

Her eyes shot open, and she sat up straight. Eliza was long dead, and Gregor had been dead for even longer. She wasn't in Nuln, but in Hyperia, on the planet of Vigilus. She looked over at the small table she'd placed by her bed; her broken cane, cleaned of Atranix's blood, lay where she'd put it.

"You're being an idiot, Alexia," she said to herself. "Gregor would be disappointed in you, and so would everyone else. Get a grip and move on."

That was easier said than done, of course. The last of her human friends in the Empire had died almost twenty years before she'd decided to take her fateful journey, and she'd spent most of that time in private mourning. Two decades of grieving were hard to shake. All she could do was keep moving, or else she'd fall right back into that dark place.

Shepard climbed out of bed and got dressed in the military uniform she'd asked for. Someone had asked if she wanted the markings of an officer, but she'd declined. She wasn't actually a soldier of the Imperium—not officially, anyway—and she didn't want to disrespect the men and women who had actually earned their ranks.

There was more to her appearance than just a uniform. The chunk of blackstone she'd used had been fitted to center of the Aquila that hung around her neck, and her power pick hung at her waist. Though to her, it was just a comfort thing—she was in a strange place, and she wanted to keep the only weapon she had—the local leaders saw another advantage. The tool-turned-weapon served as a symbol of her liberation of so many enslaved Imperial citizens. Imperial propaganda had pushed that story hard, omitting the fact that only a single person had actually survived.

No one wanted to hear about how an attempt to liberate thousands of people got them all killed.

Upon exiting her chambers, she was greeted by a squad of Tempestus Scions, led by Vils. The Seventh Deltic Scorpions had been amongst the first volunteers for her Crusade, and when Vils wasn't dealing with the day-to-day operations of running his regiment, he organized her honor guard.

Shepard wanted to shake her head at the whole thing. During her 'conversations' with the Inquisition and Adeptus Ministorum—the Imperium's state religion—she had mentioned wanting to take the battle to the enemy, rather than wait for them to attack her. She had never even used the word 'crusade', but the Imperium began tossing it around like it was going out of style.

"Good morning, ma'am," Vils said with a sharp salute. "I trust you slept well?"

"Better than I did a few days ago." Shepard noticed the dataslate in Vils' hands as she straightened the green officer's cap on her head. "Something for me?"

"Yes." Vils handed her the 'slate. "The details are inside, but Lord Calgar wants to speak with you."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "It's about the whole purifying-Chaos-thing again, isn't it?"

After Shepard was confirmed as a Saint, Calgar had sent her a message every day, posing potential tests for her abilities. Temperance Blaise and Hadrian Rex had protested at the idea of treating divine power as a mundane weapon, but Shepard had agreed with the Chapter Master. She only asked that she be given time to rest, explaining that she would probably get the best results if she was fully recovered from her recent ordeal. Calgar had agreed, and though he was polite in his messages, Shepard could tell that he was becoming impatient.

"All right, let's get this over with." Shepard gestured to Vils. "Lead the way."

For a moment, the group walked in silence, until Vils spoke. "How were your studies, ma'am?"

Shepard took a deep breath. "Honestly? A little overwhelming."

During her recovery, Shepard had asked to be provided with as much information on the Imperium at large—to better serve it, and the God-Emperor, she'd said, and everyone had bought it. Unfortunately, for every question answered, ten more popped up. The Imperium had dozens of factions and sub-factions, and a thousand terms in each that she had to interpret. Before the first day of study was done, she resigned herself to learning about the different Imperial organizations in broad strokes.

Even then, the sheer scale of the Imperium was terrifying. Thousands of systems, each with their own unique traditions and cultures, all had to be managed by a massively overworked bureaucracy called the Administratum. Long-range communications, transmitted by psychic beings—known as psykers—called astropaths, could take years to reach their destination, if they ever did. And that was just the tiniest example; Shepard quickly realized that the Imperium only kept going because of its own unstoppable momentum.

The more she learned, the more part of her despaired. She had always been a champion of innovation, but here, such a thing was literally considered heresy. The Adeptus Mechanicus—a scientific organization that _worshiped machines_—seemed to have lost the ability to make anything new, or even understand how current technology worked. Superstition and fear trumped reason and evolution.

What was worse was that she actually understood why the Imperium's beliefs were so ridiculous. Every day, Chaos and aliens and other horrors descended on Imperial worlds. The only way to remain vigilant and contain threats was to keep the populace ignorant, paranoid, or both. It reminded her of the more rural parts of the Empire; even after the Final War, the Witch Hunters had done their best to keep knowledge of Chaos from the minds of the citizenry—beyond the fact that Chaos was bad, and had to be eliminated at all costs.

Maybe that was why the Emperor had brought her to this galaxy, Shepard mused. Maybe, if she could do to Chaos here what she did back home, if Chaos was beaten—or at least contained—humanity could finally step out of the darkness.

Shepard filed that terrifying idea away for later; she could worry about saving an entire galaxy when she had the forces to do it. For now, she had a meeting to attend.

It took almost fifteen minutes to reach the Vigilus Senate, and when the great doors opened, it was to a scene of controlled chaos. Mortal officials argued, and Space Marine officers grumbled in low voices; two of the latter looked ready to come to blows. Thankfully, they settled down when the Living Saint arrived.

"Saint Shepard," Calgar greeted from his seat, "thank you for joining us. Have you recovered your strength?"

Shepard tucked her cap under her arm, as she'd seen other Imperial officers do, and sat in a vacant chair at the end of the assembly. "I believe so. Even if I haven't, I don't think we have any more time to waste."

"I agree." Calgar, whose body and armor had greatly recovered since the first time they'd met, nodded. "Your abilities need to be tested; if they are half as effective as the reports claimed, you will be vital in restoring order to Vigilus."

Shepard placed her cap on her lap and laced her fingers over it. "I thought the situation had improved."

A mortal man that she didn't know stood up. "The traitor forces have largely abandoned the system, and the Aeldari have vanished, but the world is still in turmoil. Xenos cults plague us from within, the remaining Orks attack from without, and daemons—" here, he and many others made warding gestures, "—are running rampant across a dozen locations!"

"The honored senator speaks the truth," Calgar admitted. "While we are regaining control, it is taking too long. The gateways set up by the traitors continue to pour in foul Warp-energies; too much manpower is being diverted to contain the forces of Chaos to permanently deal with the xenos."

Shepard understood where he was going with this. "You want to see if I can shut down these gates. If that happens, we can clean up the rest of the enemies here."

"Precisely," Calgar said. "We plan to clear out the least-defended of these locations, and give you time to use your abilities on it."

Shepard nodded. "I'll do it." She needed to get a handle on fighting in this universe, and fighting with Imperial forces would help build a rapport. The last thing she wanted was to get the Inquisition suspicious again; she doubted that the Ministorum could protect her forever.

Calgar actually smiled. "Strike forces of Astartes will land close to the target, while other Imperial forces will surround it and push inward."

Shepard's returning smile was almost predatory. "Catch them from inside and out. I like it."

"I am glad you approve." Calgar rose, his repaired armor gleaming in the light. "Issue orders to the Militarum, Mechanicus and Sororitas units nearest to Storvhal to engage all enemy forces. We will send reinforcements as soon as we are able."

Once again, the Senate erupted into activity, but this time, everyone was coordinating to ensure the operation's success.

"Saint Shepard," Calgar said as he approached, "I would like for you and elements of Tempestor Prime Vils' forces to head to a staging ground at the northernmost point of Hyperia. Once we've secured the Noctilith Crown that causes these Warp-anomalies, you may enter the area."

Shepard didn't like the idea of sitting back while others fought on her behalf, but she understood Calgar's reasoning. If her powers really could drive Chaos off the planet, they couldn't risk her death in the middle of a skirmish.

"All right," Shepard said. "I need some gear, anyway."

…

"It's a perfect fit," Vils commented as Shepard stepped out of the arming chamber.

Shepard smirked. "You're just saying that because I'm wearing your unit's armor."

Vils shrugged. "It doesn't hurt."

While the Imperium rushed to assault Storvhal, Shepard needed proper equipment if she was going into a combat zone. The Ministorum had commissioned her a suit of special armor, but it wasn't ready, so the Deltic Scorpions had stepped up and offered her the red fatigues and black carapace armor of their regiment. She was also given a large sidearm that was known as a bolt pistol; unlike the laser weaponry that most Imperial soldiers used, bolt weapons fired enormous high-explosive, mass-reactive rounds that were more like shells than bullets.

Shepard examined the black-painted pistol for a moment, marveling that she had a handheld rocket launcher, and holstered it. She still had her power pick; she'd gotten too used to its heft by now to grab something else.

"Oh, admit it," Shepard said, and tossed her hair back. "I make this look good."

"Of course you do," Vils said with his usual monotone, but Shepard had a feeling that he was smiling. "It's _our _gear."

Shepard laughed and patted the man on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get on the gunship before someone takes the good seats."

A squadron of Valkyrie gunships rested on the nearby landing pad. Most were already packed with Scions; they were waiting for their commander and their Saint. Shepard took the time to nod at the Tempestors, who saluted, and then put on her helmet. She felt a wave of nostalgia as her heads-up display came online.

"We've got the coordinates for the staging ground," Vils said over the vox—the Imperial communications devices. "We'll arrive in approximately forty-five minutes."

"Any news on the attack?" Shepard asked as she settled into her seat.

"The surrounding forces have the enemy contained, but that could change at any time. The Space Marines will begin their assault any minute now. About two hundred of them were dropping in; with that kind of power, they'll hold until we get there."

About twenty minutes after the gunships took off, Shepard figured that it would be a good time to at least act like the Saint she was expected to be. "Vils, patch me through to each squad. I'd like to lead a prayer."

Vils sat up in his seat and nodded. "One moment, Your Holiness."

_Back to that, huh? _Inside her full-face helmet, Shepard rolled her eyes. A moment later, Vils nodded, and Shepard began to speak.

"Look to your battle gear and it will protect you," she intoned.

"_We guard it with our lives," _over a hundred voices responded.

"Your armor is your soul, and your soul's dedication is its armor."

"_The soul of the warrior is the protector of humanity."_

"Honor the craft of death."

"_Only the Emperor is higher in our devotion."_

"Honor the battle gear of the dead. We ask only to serve."

As Shepard finished, she finally noticed the golden aura that briefly surrounded her. She also felt a sense of certainty deep within her soul. She'd felt something like it before, after she'd come to worship Sigmar, and after prayers, but this was so much _more_. She didn't really believe in destiny, but she felt, in her heart of hearts, that she was meant to be here.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who'd been spiritually fortified. Vils and his command squad sat even straighter, if that was possible, and looked ready to follow Shepard into hell if she asked.

The moment didn't last; the gunship suddenly jinked to the left, and a shockwave battered them all.

"_We've been engaged by hostile AA-weapons!" _the pilot shouted over the vox. _"Surface-to-air missiles!"_

"Inform local ground forces," Vils ordered. "We must reach the staging area."

"_Ground forces are reporting a massive attack," _the pilot reported a moment later. _"They can't reach those launchers in time, and—"_

There was a massive _boom_, and then Shepard's head connected solidly with the gunship's door. She must have blacked out, because the next thing she knew, the lights inside the Valkyrie were flashing red, and the gunship was spinning out of control.

"_Can't maintain altitude," _the pilot growled. _"We're going down! Brace for impact!"_

Shepard almost laughed. "Hell of a first day back."

Then they hit the ground, and everything went to hell.

Whether it was a testament to their pilot's skill or just dumb luck, the gunship crashed at an angle, and skipped across the roof of a building, through the open air, and came to a stop on the roof of another.

"Everyone out!" Vils shouted.

"The door's jammed, sir!" a Scion called out.

"I've got it," Shepard said, shouldering her way to the door. "Give me some room to swing!"

Everyone leaned as far back as they could in the cramped gunship. Shepard activated her power pick and swung at the edge of the door; the power field let the tool slice through the armor from top to bottom. Shepard and another Scion rammed their shoulders against the damaged metal; with a screech, the door fell away. They had just exited the Valkyrie when bullets rained down around them.

"Take cover!" Vils commanded as he dived behind the low crenellations at the roof's edge. "ID those shooters and take them out!"

Most of the squad were armed with their hot-shot lasguns, and their intensive training let them quickly track the bullets back to their shooters, who were at the top of a building nearby. It was higher than their own building, and their attackers had cover, but the Tempestus Scions were crack shots. Las-fire hissed, and figures tumbled off the roof.

"Did one of those guys have three arms?" Shepard asked as she watched the bodies fall.

"Genestealer Cults," Vils growled as he fired his plasma pistol. "Half-xenos scum."

Despite the ambush, Shepard and her escort were able to drive back the cultists, and only a single man was wounded.

"What's the status of the pilot?" Vils asked, while the squad's medic patched up the wounded man.

"Dead, sir," another Scion reported. "Copilot and gunners are gone, too."

"And the gunship is in no state to fly," Shepard added. "We'll need a ride, but those AA missiles are going to be a problem if we exfiltrate by air."

"Then our first task is to eliminate those launchers." Vils watched as a missile streaked upwards from another nearby building, but the lack of explosion hinted that it missed. "Is there a way we can reach that site?"

Shepard looked over the edge. "I can see a maintenance bridge about four levels down. It connects the two buildings."

"The cultists might be abominations, but they're not stupid," Vils said. "That bridge will be a perfect spot for an ambush. Ma'am, perhaps you can use those holy wings to link up with another gunship. We'll only slow you down."

Shepard frowned. "Absolutely not, Vils. I don't leave good soldiers behind."

"… Understood, ma'am." Vils looked down at the bridge in question. "I wouldn't be surprised if we face opposition on the way down, and this is a commercial district. It'll be close-quarters. Niks! You're on point!"

A woman stepped forward and hefted a wide-barreled weapon. "Got it, sir."

The way down was a far cry from the chaotic firefight from earlier. In fact, if Shepard couldn't still feel the shockwaves from explosions outside, she would have called it a peaceful stroll. Of course, she knew how bad her luck was when it came from getting from one place to another, so she didn't let down her guard.

Her caution was warranted, because she had only an instant to react before a shrieking blur burst from a vent. Shepard fired her bolt pistol, and was surprised by the kick from the weapon, but she kept her focus on the thing trying to kill her. It was too fast to get a good look, but not so fast that she couldn't track it; her first shot struck its shoulder and blew off one arm, and her second caught it in the gut. That slowed it down enough for Niks to level her meltagun and, with a beam of blinding light, reduced the right half of its body to molten goo.

Now that it was dead, Shepard could finally examine it. If it hadn't been hunched over, it would have been taller than a man; the parts of its body that weren't covered in flexible green-blue carapace had purple flesh, and it had once had four arms, each hand tipped with huge talons. Its head was bulbous and ridged, and its mouth was filled with needle-sharp teeth.

"What the hell is this thing?" Shepard asked.

"A Genestealer," Vils growled in obvious disgust. "Foul xenos are practically worshiped by the cults. They breed with the things, and make the abominations that tried to kill us earlier."

Shepard looked down at the dead alien and grimaced. "That's an unpleasant mental image." Then she glanced at her bolt pistol and nodded. "I like this gun, though."

"All yours, Your Holiness."

Shepard looked at the meltagun in Niks' hands. "I like that one, too." She noticed Vils staring at her. "What? I like guns."

One of the Scions in the back muttered something that sounded like 'Best Saint ever', and Shepard smiled. "Come on, we've still got to cross that bridge."

As alien as the Genestealer Cults were, they weren't reckless if they didn't have to be. Rather than send waves of troops against Shepard and the elite Scions, they fortified the bridge that they knew the Imperials would have to cross. A quick look at the bridge was enough to confirm a kill-zone with a dozen weapon emplacements behind sandbags and piles of debris. Scion armor was good, but everyone knew that they would be shredded if they tried to cross.

"Now might be a good time to fly out of here," Vils suggested again.

"I'm starting to think you might be right," Shepard agreed, but then continued. "But I'm not running away. They've got the top of the bridge locked down, but I didn't see anything guarding the underside. I'll fly under their fire, and attack from behind."

"Can you take out all of those emplacements before they swing around to target you?" Vils asked.

"Probably not," Shepard admitted. "I'll need some grenades for that."

Each member of the squad quickly donated his or her supply of grenades. Shepard belted them around her waist, across her chest, and even around her arms and legs. She was very aware that one good shot would set off quite the explosion, and she _would _be out in the open for a few vital seconds before she slipped under the enemy's fire.

"Give me some cover," Shepard ordered as she prepared to move. "I'll go on your order, Vils."

The Tempestor Prime nodded. "Everyone with a las, pick your targets. I want those gunners pinned down." He glanced at Shepard, who was crouched and ready. "Fire!"

Bright red beams of energy lanced out; the expert sharpshooters even managed to drop a few cultists before they ducked behind their cover. Shepard wasted no time and dived through the door, and then leaped out into the open air.

_I really hope this works, _Shepard thought. Though she'd projected confidence in her abilities, she hadn't actually tapped into her powers since fighting the Iron Warriors, and it was entirely possible that she had just jumped to her death.

She had to remember the first time she'd used her power. That meant remembering the rage; she dug deep into her memories, dredging up each time she'd felt overwhelming anger. More than the fury of losing good people to monsters and traitors, she remembered the resolve to not let it happen again.

Shepard hadn't realized that she'd closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, they burned with golden light. The golden wings materialized at her back, and she began to fly.

If it were any other situation, Shepard might have laughed at the feeling of flying under her own power. Before, it had always been on a machine, or on Stormwing's back; now, she had her own wings. Unfortunately, she still had to battle with the rising tide of rage that threatened to overtake her, so it was difficult to enjoy her newfound flight. Instead, she focused on getting to the other building, which took less than a minute; as she perched on a carving of an angelic figure, she marveled at the speeds she'd achieved.

Shepard just hoped that the cultists hadn't seen her approach. It took her a moment, but she figured out how to 'deactivate' her powers, so that the light didn't attract attention. She then used her power pick to haul herself up the side of the building; it took a few minutes, but it was a better option than being shot.

The closest of the weapon emplacements, a heavy bolter, was firing nonstop at the Scions, who were rapidly running out of cover. The roar of the high-caliber rounds was deafening, even with Shepard's helmet protecting her ears. Hanging by the fingers of one hand off the edge of the room, Shepard pulled the pins off one bandolier of grenades, and hurled it in an arc, and then jumped back. The explosives landed between the weapon crew an instant before they exploded; Shepard, who had brought forth her wings once more, flew back from the blast.

The other cultist teams were surprised by the sudden loss, and that split second of indecision was all Shepard needed. She hurled more bandoliers among the other emplacements, and explosions rocked the far side of the bridge.

"Scorpions!" Vils raised his chainsword. "Forward!"

Once Shepard was out of grenades, she drew her bolt pistol and fired down at the diminished cultists from the air. She killed three, but then something leaped from the shadows and tackled her in midair. A serrated blade stabbed forward and cut across her forearm, slicing through her armor and cutting a jagged gash across her flesh.

Shepard hissed in pain as she and her assailant tumbled out of the air, but she managed to correct herself enough to put the cultist between herself and the ground. Amazingly, though Shepard heard the crack of bones breaking, the cultist still fought. He was covered in a dark cloak, and between that and the unnatural sword he held, Shepard had a flashback to when Skaven assassins had tried to kill her.

Rather than face a squealing rat-man, Shepard fought a squirming half-xenos freak of nature. She leaned out of the way of another stab from the sword that the assassin had managed to hold onto, and then pressed the barrel of her pistol against his chest. She pulled the trigger twice; the mass-reactive shells blew fist-sized holes through the cultist, and left bloody craters in the roof under him.

By the time Shepard had stepped back, Vils and the other Scions had finished off the remaining cultists. Vils himself was spattered by blood, though not his own; he had been right when he'd said that chainswords were messy affairs.

"Ma'am, you're injured!" Vils quickly inspected the wound. "Medic! I need—"

He and Shepard both stared as the blood from her injury glowed with golden light. When it receded, there was still dried blood, but the flesh beneath it was undamaged.

"Well, damn," Shepard said, and flexed her healed arm. "That's impressive."

"First time performing a miracle on yourself?" Vils asked, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

"The wings and beating the Chaos out of people don't count?" Shepard teased. "We can add up my miracles later; right now, we still have to get rid of those missile launchers."

Thankfully, there was only one level between them and their target, but none of them were about to charge recklessly ahead, not when they were so close to achieving their objective. This was wise, because they nearly activated a tripwire-activated trap.

Shepard was actually glad that they took their time—though her wound had healed, there was definitely a price. For a few minutes, she was almost too tired to stand; only willpower and adrenaline kept her moving at all. Thankfully, she only needed those few minutes to recover, though she hoped that she wasn't put in that position too often.

Of course, knowing her luck, she probably would.

"Everyone ready?" Vils asked as they reached the door to the roof. "Niks, take point again."

"Copy that, sir." Niks hefted her meltagun again, and waited for Vils to tap her shoulder before melting the door down, along with a good part of the doorframe. She charged out, but barely got five steps before a three-armed cultist grabbed her; Niks screamed as talons ripped into her flesh.

"Die, xeno!" Vils swung his chainsword deep into the cultist's back, nearly sawing him in half before he finally let go of Niks.

"Kill the rest!" Shepard ordered as she rushed another cultist, this one armed and armored with equipment found among the Vigilus Guard. He raised his lasgun, but Shepard smashed it aside with her power pick; unfortunately, the tool chose that moment to spark and fail. Without its power field, the pick cracked and shattered. Though Shepard was disarmed, so was her opponent; she then punched him with such force that the front half of his skull was crushed into pulp.

Gunfire erupted as Tempestus Scions fought cultists. Two more Imperial soldiers went down, though the rest of the cultists, including the ones operating the missile launcher, were finished off by a man with a flamer. Shepard wasn't a xenophobe, but as she watched the hybrids burn, she felt a certain satisfaction before turning to Vils.

"How's Niks?"

Vils shook his head. "She didn't make it. Lost too much blood." He squared his shoulders. "She died achieving the mission. As far as we're concerned, that's a good death."

On a personal level, Shepard preferred that soldiers lived long enough to die at home, with their families, but she wasn't going to dishonor Niks' memory.

"The skies should be clear, right?"

"We should have a corridor, yes."

Shepard picked up the broken remains of her power pick, sighed, and then tossed it away. "Then get us a ride out of here. We're late for an appointment."

…

Marneus Calgar took a deep breath as the final Chaos Marine fell beneath his gauntlets. The attack on the Chaos stronghold had been hard-fought, but with over four hundred Space Marines striking the heart of their forces, the Noctilith Crown was quickly secured.

"Begin consolidation efforts immediately," Calgar ordered over the command frequencies. "We must hold this location at all costs."

Within minutes, thousands of Guardsmen were moving their sandbags from positions to lay siege to the Chaos-held base, to defending it. Mechanicus elements dragged in supplies and organized logistics on a level that would have been impossible for an unaugmented mind. The only area not touched was the Crown itself, and a hundred meters of ground around it; no one wanted to risk being destroyed by its wild energies, or worse, be corrupted by them.

Satisfied with how things were progressing, Calgar sent the signal for Shepard to be moved in. Like most Space Marines, he was wary of the powers a Living Saint possessed; after all, agents of Chaos had masqueraded as holy figures in the past, and had fooled many a mortal. However, if Shepard really could purify something tainted by Chaos, it was an opportunity that Calgar could never pass up.

Nearly twenty minutes later, a squadron of Valkyries touched down, and Shepard stepped out. Calgar noted that the Living Saint showed signs of recent battle, including a bloodied arm. She looked tired, but she held her head high, and she walked with purpose.

"I thought you would be somewhere safe," Calgar remarked as Shepard approached. "That was why you were not part of this attack."

Shepard just shrugged. "No one expected cultists armed with surface-to-air missiles. At least we made it on time, right?"

"Indeed." Calgar motioned to the Noctilith Crown. "This is your test. Can you purify it?"

Shepard craned her neck back as she took in the sight. Calgar didn't blame her; the Noctilith Crowns were massive ringed structures, covered in spikes and dotted with infernal runes. The hollow space inside of the ring was filled with Warp-energy that lashed out like a living thing.

"From what I understand, the structures are created from corrupted blackstone," Calgar said. "They channel the Warp and strengthen its hold on the material plane."

"Right, and when blackstone isn't messed with, it repels Chaos." Shepard shrugged again when Calgar looked at him. "I asked around. It was hard to get even that much from the Tech-Priests. Like pulling teeth."

Calgar shared her frustrations, though he didn't voice them. Instead, he just pointed at the Crown again.

"Fine, fine." Shepard marched forward. "I'll see what I can do."

As Shepard approached, the lashing tendrils of Warp-stuff shrieked and tried to crush her. An instant before that happened, Shepard was haloed in golden light; she raised one hand, and a golden beam blasted the energies back.

"Yeah, that's right," Shepard said, not quite so softly that Calgar's enhanced hearing didn't pick it up. "You remember me, you evil asshats? I'm back, and you'd better hope I don't get my hands on you."

Shepard placed her hands on the Crown, and the light around her grew brighter. At first, nothing happened, but after a few moments, the blackstone began to groan; then, the runes hissed and burned away, the spikes melted back into the rest of the structure, and the energies in the center stilled.

"I can… sense it," Shepard panted. "There's a… network. It's all connected. I think I can…" She made her way to the front of the Crown and, to everyone's alarm, shoved her hand into the gateway.

The light grew blinding, even to those whose helmets adjusted to bright lights. The only things Calgar could hear were the shrieks of denied gods, and a scream of rage so powerful that no human voice should have been able to produce it.

When the light finally faded, Calgar saw Shepard lying on the ground. The Crown remained, though it looked like an ordinary stone structure, rather than a site of unholy power. The ground around it, once twisted and unnatural, looked just like any other normal soil.

She had done it.

Calgar hurried to Shepard's side, gently lifting her up as he pried off her helmet. "Saint Shepard?"

She coughed, and then took several deep breaths before opening her eyes. "That… hurt."

"What did you do?"

Shepard grinned weakly. "I could see the network. All the rings were keeping each other stable, and making them more powerful at the same time. I just dumped my power into the mix… I think I purified the whole network."

Calgar thought of the many Crowns dotting Vigilus, and realized what this could mean. He quickly handed Shepard to a team of medics who rushed to help the Saint, and then he accessed the planetary strategic command. He was flooded with reports of Chaos forces across the planet screaming in pain, unable to use their unholy powers, or even outright dying.

There was a feeling in Calgar's soul, one that he'd only felt a handful of times. The last had been when his Primarch had been resurrected. That had been over a century ago, and it took him a moment to recognize it.

Hope.

**I realize what Shepard did here. Yes, she purified an entire planet in a single move. However, this was a one-time thing. She had to access an entire network of blackstone structures, purify them, and then use them to cover the entire world in her own power, which was amplified by the blackstone. Circumstances were just right for her to do this, and it won't happen again, unless Chaos tries to do this exact same thing.**

**Wait, Chaos tries to do this sort of thing all the time. Well, blackstone is pretty rare, so this was still a one-time deal.**

**Also, Genestealer Cults are actually my favorite non-Imperium faction, so I had to bring them in, even for a little bit. Shepard will probably fight them again next chapter, since she's still waiting for her Crusade to get here, and only those who are corrupted by Chaos are affected by her purification powers.**

**Anyway, sorry for not getting this chapter out sooner. I've been slammed with a bunch of stuff over the last couple of weeks, including: an electrical fire caused by the recent earthquakes (I live in California), power outages (again, earthquakes), talking to people about getting a job (fingers crossed), and just being too tired to do anything. Most of this chapter was written within the last 48 hours of this chapter's release.**

**Another recurring problem I'm having is lack of funds. My parents are pretty fed up with me not having a job (I'm trying, dammit!), and have made it abundantly clear that I'm getting kicked out by my next birthday. I don't want to live on the street. Please, if you'd be so kind, consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. It can be found on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon. Seriously, I haven't had a sale in almost a month. It makes me very sad.**

**If you want to be awesome in a different way, please consider donating on P-atreon (also a link in my profile). If every person who favorited me dropped just five bucks a month, I'd be able to write fan fiction chapters at least once a week.**

**And now, a big shout-out to all of my patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: ****CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Carl Bjorkhall**

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**Next Chapter: Forces gather to strike back at the darkness!**

**Honor thy Muffin, honor the Emperor.**


	5. Cleanse

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I'VE BEEN INFORMED THAT TRYING TO CREATE AN ENGINE POWERED BY THE TORMENTED PSYCHE OF THOUSANDS OF SACRIFICED SOULS IS ILLEGAL. APPARENTLY, THERE WAS ALREADY A PRECEDENT.**

**It's a good thing Shepard has faced galaxy-ending threats in the past, because she's got a little frame of reference for the shitstorm she's entered.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 5

Cleanse

Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos, leaned back in his command throne aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_. He made no outward sign of displeasure, but the Daemons that flitted through the ancient and corrupted warship could sense his fury. They reveled in it, but also knew to keep their distance from the Gods' mightiest mortal champion.

"Explain this to me," Abaddon said, his tone mild, almost casual. "I was promised that Vigilus would be consumed by the Warp. While we did not witness it happening, I know that the area that was safe for Imperial travel was diminished. Now, my sorcerers tell me that not only has all trace of our presence on the world vanished, but the Nachmund Gauntlet has become _larger_." The Talon of Horus dug deep into the arm of the Despoiler's throne as he loomed over those in his court. "Explain it to me. Now."

In the presence of most Chaos Marines that were steeped in the power of Chaos, it was difficult for mortals to breathe, let alone converse. For particularly blessed heretics, even other Chaos Marines found it difficult to resist their will.

Abaddon was no normal Chaos Lord. He had been among the mightiest Astartes of the Legions of old, and his power had grown considerably in the ten thousand years since the Horus Heresy. He had slain the mightiest champions of the Imperium, cowed Daemon Primarchs, and conquered every challenge the Dark Gods had thrown at him. His black Terminator armor was as imbued with power as his own body, and his weapons had tasted the blood of a Primarch and the Emperor Himself.

It was all that Deshamentus could to not to fall to his knees. The Word Bearer, one of the three Dark Apostles that had overseen the placement of the Noctilith Crowns on Vigilus, saw Abaddon as a fool for not accepting ascension into Daemonhood, but his arrogance failed him while in Abaddon's presence.

"Warmaster, I cannot," Deshamentus rasped as he knelt. He dared not look up at Abaddon, and instead stared at the deep crimson of his own armor. "The rituals were perfect. Even if the Imperial dogs had destroyed the Crowns, the corruption of the planet was inevitable. Nothing I know of could undo such power—not in such a short amount of time."

Abaddon gently tapped one finger against the other arm of his throne. The many Chaos Lords and their attendants knew that the Warmaster was in a foul mood, and hardly dared to breathe. In the silence, the tapping was deafening.

"My sorcerers and seers have heard whispers in the Warp," Abaddon said quietly, though his voice reached them all. "One word. A single word, spoken with fear and hatred; it was enough to cause Daemons to recoil. A name. Do you know it, Apostle?"

Deshamentus nodded; he had had his own visions since the withdrawal—none of them were willing to call it a retreat—from Vigilus. He had sacrificed a dozen slaves and the bones of a long-dead Aeldari to learn a single name, and the Daemon who had spoken it refused to treat with him since.

"Shepard," Abaddon said. "Whoever they are, they have become a most hated foe of Chaos. I believe it was this 'Shepard' who undid your efforts on Vigilus." He slowly shifted his gaze to the others in his court. "What would you suggest?"

Haarken Worldclaimer, Abaddon's faithful herald, stepped forward and sank to one knee. "Master, send me back to Vigilus. The weak-blooded Imperials dared to defy you; I shall remind them of their place in this universe, and punish them for their temerity."

Abaddon did not speak at first, and more than one Chaos Lord rolled his eyes. Haarken was a talented warrior, but he didn't bother hiding his devotion to the Warmaster; some thought he elevated Abaddon above even the gods. However, his quick statement, one made by Abaddon's own Black Legion, prevented any other lord from trying to curry his favor. The more paranoid of their number wondered if that had been Abaddon's goal all along.

"I would enjoy destroying that defiant little planet," Abaddon agreed, "but the energies that once corrupted the world now repel the energies of the Warp. Most of us would be slain before the Imperials fired a shot. My seers also sensed many ships arriving to reinforce Vigilus. Our own fleet is damaged, and those not sworn to me have split away to pursue their own goals." He nodded to himself, as he came to a decision. "The Nachmund Gauntlet is a lost cause, but there are other routes through the Great Rift that the Imperium uses to reach the far side of the galaxy. It is those routes that we will close, and when the Imperium has only one way to pass through the Rift, it will be they who are bottled up."

Deshamentus admitted that it was a good plan. Even if the Imperium had a place that Chaos could never touch, all the Warmaster had to do was keep them from getting out. The irony of using the same strategy that the Imperium had used at the Cadian Gate was not lost on him.

Still, he had to wonder: this 'Shepard' had done the impossible. What could they be doing now?

…

"You know, I'm starting to feel kind of lazy," Shepard commented as she walked down the seemingly endless gothic corridors.

"How so, Your Holiness?" Temperance Blaise asked.

Shepard shrugged. "I feel like I'm the only one who needs sleep. By the time I wake up, everyone else is already moving."

Blaise shook her head. "You are not lazy, Your Holiness. It appears that your sleep schedule is different than ours, and I have noticed that you are waking earlier every day."

Shepard conceded that point; she didn't _really _feel lazy, she just wanted some way to break the awed silence that Blaise held while around her. In truth, most of Shepard's waking hours were spent studying just how the Imperium worked, the many factions within it, and how best to interact with them. Each of them was so different that it was a wonder they ever got along. She was disappointed, but not surprised, to find that every single one of those factions had fought each other, and even themselves, at one point or another.

When she wasn't looking at general overviews, or studying historical records—which were heavily redacted or revised by the Inquisition—Shepard kept her skills sharp by helping the forces on Vigilus deal with the remaining threats. Chaos had been purged from the planet, but Orks and the Genestealers were still a threat. Shepard had taken the opportunity to work with each of the factions in some way—she fought alongside Space Marines in counter-ambushes, helped plan defenses with the Astra Militarum, and recovering captured technology with the Adeptus Mechanicus. She had also helped destroy several cultist strongpoints with the Order of Our Martyred Lady; the zealotry of the Sisters made her uncomfortable, but it was hard to argue the effectiveness of killing the hybrid monsters with waves of fire.

_Zaeed would have liked them, _Shepard thought as she and Blaise passed a group of Sisters. _They would have killed him as soon as he opened his mouth, but he would have liked them._

A good deal of the forces she'd fought alongside had also volunteered to join her Crusade—Several regiments from Vigilus, the Order of Our Martyred Lady, a large element of Stygies VIII's forces, and an entire Chapter of Space Marines, the Necropolis Hawks. Those were just the forces already on Vigilus; several fleets were on their way to reinforce the vital world, but one of them was made up of forces sworn to her.

It bothered her that literally millions of people were volunteering for a war on the word of someone they'd never heard of, let alone met, until a few short months ago. True, it was nice to have so much support, and Shepard could appreciate the value of faith, but people were _worshiping_ her. It was… unnerving.

"Is there anything out of the ordinary on my schedule today?" Shepard asked, getting down to business. Technically, she should have had an Administratum adept as her secretary, not an experienced leader like Blaise, but the Canoness Superior had earned a great deal of experience in organization during the war on Vigilus, and helped Shepard manage her busy schedule. Also, it earned her loyalty by having her in such a trusted position, even if both of them knew it was temporary.

"Chapter Master Zandtus requested your presence," Blaise said, careful to keep her tone neutral. Shepard had quickly realized that many within the Adepta Sororitas saw Space Marines as mutants, and barely tolerated their presence outside of battle. Blaise had fought alongside many different Chapters of Space Marines during the war, and had come to respect them, but her teachings still caused some internal conflict.

"Did he say why?"

"He did not," Blaise admitted. "But it is likely that he wants to request additional training exercises with other elements of the Crusade."

"Which is not a bad thing," Shepard reminded her. "We're all on the same side, and we should learn how to best combine our forces."

"As you say, Your Holiness." Both women paused when they felt a shudder pass through the tower. "What was that?"

Shepard grimaced. "If it's another bombing by the cults, I'm going to have words with our security. Hyperia was supposed to be secure by now!"

The two picked up the pace until they reached the Vigilus Senate. The room was less crowded than it had been months ago; with Chaos driven from the system, many of the Space Marines had left to pursue more critical objectives elsewhere. Calgar had left Lieutenant Eothrus and his demi-company of Ultramarines behind, along with several small forces from other Chapters, but with the entirety of their strength now based on Vigilus—and because their Chapter Master had the highest rank among Astartes—Raquilon Zandtus of the Necropolis Hawks had overall command of all Space Marines on the planet.

Zandtus was lean, for a Primaris Marine. His skin was unusually pale, and though less than two centuries old—young for a Space Marine—his close-cropped hair and beard were grey. Like all Necropolis Hawks, his armor was blue-grey, save for the white on his arms, shoulder, backpack, and the helmet that hung on his belt. His Chapter's symbol, a black hawk's head, was prominent on his left shoulder. He was leaning over a tactical display—specifically, a hologram of the tower. A small red dot blinked at the base, while dozens of green dots converged around it.

"What happened?" Shepard asked as she and Blaise entered the room.

Zandtus nodded in greeting, and then spoke; his voice was calm, and his face showed no signs of alarm. "A cult cell used a stolen Militarum transport to slip past checkpoints. It was filled with explosives, but its path was unscheduled, so it was targeted and destroyed."

Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Do we know where it came from?"

"We ran the ident-code the crew provided," Zandtus said. "Tempestor Prime Vils has already deployed a unit to investigate the base it was housed in."

"Could it be compromised?" During and after the war, pockets of Militarum forces had turned out to be cultists that had infiltrated the military. Some of them were still in hiding, and the sheer size of Vigilus' garrison made rooting them out extremely difficult. The idea had been put forth for every bald-headed man or woman in each regiment be taken aside for testing, but that had resulted in an entire regiment rising up, and not all of them were cultists. It had taken a full month to put them down.

"If it is, it is very close," Zandtus assured her. "We will be able to contain it quickly. Until then, we must maintain our efforts to hunt down the cult's Patriarch. Doing so will cripple them, at least long enough to identify the abominations and purge them."

"They probably have contingencies in place, in case we get close." Shepard scowled. "I hate dealing with enemies that actually use their brains."

She didn't voice it, but Shepard knew that the situation on Vigilus _had _been improving, even with most of the Space Marines gone now. Without the forces of Chaos around, the Imperials had been able to focus on eliminating the Genestealer Cults. It was slow, grid-by-grid work, but the cultists were being driven from one district after another. Small kill teams of Space Marines would hit the cultists in a way that would force them into the guns of the Astra Militarum or Adeptus Mechanicus, or the fire of the Order of Our Martyred Lady.

Shepard had been part of the strike forces, but she did less fighting than expected. The Imperium was slow to react to threats, but when it did, the soldiers who fought did so with remarkable competence. Granted, that was just the forces she'd seen; the Imperium had an incredible amount of variation among its different militaries, and some of them weren't suited to fighting certain enemies. Thankfully, the forces on Vigilus had been exposed to a wide variety of enemy tactics, and could react accordingly.

"Actually, how _is _the search for the Patriarch doing?" Shepard asked. "Even if we can't kill him, we could probably throw off the cult's plans if we force him to relocate."

"We're reasonably certain that he's in the Dirkden Hivesprawl," Zandtus said, and then raised an eyebrow at the nearest Magos. "Our Mechanicus friends gave an exact percentage, but I thought you would appreciate something that wasn't fifty numbers long."

"You would be right." Shepard inclined her head at Zandtus, silently asking permission. When she got it, she switched the tactical display to show the massive hive of Dirkden. "This is a huge place to search; how much of it is already done?"

"Approximately sixty-two percent," the Magos replied, his voice heavily synthesized as he stared at Zandtus. "You are not the only one who can appreciate short numbers in times of war."

Shepard bit her lip and looked away as she tried not to laugh. It wasn't that funny, but even her brief experiences with the Mechanicus had taught her that even attempts at humor from them were to be treasured.

"Thanks for that," she said. "I don't think we've been introduced?"

"Xem-Beta, Magos Dominus." The Magos dipped his head in greeting.

Even hunched over as he was, Xem-Beta was as tall as Zandtus. He wore the black robes of Stygies VIII, and had several extra mechanical limbs reaching around from his back. His legs were replaced by six thin limbs of gleaming metal, and he carried several weapons, including a long-hafted power axe. His mouth and nose were concealed by a mask dotted by tubes that disappeared into the darkness of his hood, and his eyes were replaced by green-lensed augmetics; the left eye was actually a trio of smaller lenses that constantly rotated one way and then another, clicking with every switch.

"Nice to meet you," Shepard said. "What kind of resources would we need to finish searching the rest of Dirkden?"

"There are many reinforcements that have arrived in-system," Xem-Beta reported. "It would be a simple matter to utilize them to supplement available forces."

"Flood the hive with friendly forces, give the cult nowhere to hide," Shepard said approvingly. "We can put them under the command of units that have already fought the cults. Manpower plus experience equals efficiency in my book."

"A crude mathematical formula, but not inaccurate," Xem-Beta admitted. "With your permission, I will begin sorting the logistics for such an operation."

Shepard had a feeling that he was only asking as a formality, and that he would do it regardless. Still, he wasn't actively circumventing her decisions; unless that happened, she had no problem letting people do their jobs without her oversight.

"When Vils gets back, I want him to set aside some of his troops," Shepard said. "When we find out where the Patriarch is, we'll hit that location with the Deltic Scorpions, the Hawks, and the Sororitas. Mechanicus forces will keep watch over the perimeter, in case something happens."

Zandtus, Blaise, and Xem-Beta all nodded. Hopefully, the three elite forces would hit hard enough, and fast enough, to cut the head off the beast.

"Is there anything else I should know about while I'm here?" Shepard asked.

"Nothing on a strategic level, Your Holiness," Blaise said. "However, I have been told that your armor is ready."

Shepard's eyes lit up. "Ooh, thanks! What about the weapon I commissioned?"

Blaise shook her head. "Our artificers are still crafting it to your specifications. Perhaps in a few more days."

"Darn. Still, I'd better go see if my new suit fits, so I should go."

"There is one more thing, Your Holiness," Blaise said, just as Shepard turned to leave. "There is someone who wishes to speak with you. Forgive my assumption, but I thought that you would want to see him again, so I sent him to the armory to wait for you."

Intrigued, Shepard left the senate building and headed for the arming chamber that had been set aside for her personal use. It bothered her practical nature, but the entire chamber was decorated with religious symbols, purity seals attached to the walls with red wax, and dotted with incense burners. Still, Shepard had no intention of creating enemies with the Ecclesiarchy, especially since they were some of her most powerful supporters.

Guarding the arming chamber was a living symbol of her Crusade. Rather than show favor to any one faction that was signing on with her, Shepard had asked for a mixed force. There were five each of Battle Sisters, Skitarii of Stygies VIII, Intercessors of the Necropolis Hawks, and Deltic Scorpions. Personally, Shepard thought that twenty elite soldiers was a little too much for what was essentially a personal armory, but the gesture had created a sense of unity among her elite forces.

Waiting for her was one more person, someone that Shepard hadn't seen or heard from since the tests to prove her sainthood. He was thinner than Shepard remembered, and a small Aquila tattoo now rested on his neck, but the young man was still recognizable.

"Hiral!" Shepard grinned and pulled the boy into a hug before he could try to kneel. "It's good to see you again!"

Hiral froze until Shepard released him, but at least he didn't bow. "It is good to see you as well, Saint Shepard."

Much like she had done with Eliza or David when she had been apart from them for long—even when her son had become Emperor—she gently spun the young man around to check if he was all right. She took a bit of enjoyment at how uncomfortable he became at her motherly actions.

"You seem okay," Shepard remarked. "The Inquisition held you a lot longer than I thought."

"I was captured by the Great Enemy," Hiral said with a shrug. "I don't fault them for being thorough, and once I was deemed free of any taint, I was treated well."

"Good to hear. Now, not that I'm unhappy to see you, but why are you here? I thought you'd be sent back to your regiment."

"I made a request, and I was permitted to ask you directly." Now, Hiral fell to one knee. "Saint Shepard, I would be honored if you accepted me into your Crusade. Whether it be as a soldier or a servant, I swear to give everything I have and more in service to the God-Emperor."

Shepard was quiet as she considered what Hiral had just said. She noticed that the non-Mechanicus elements of her guard seemed to approve of his words. Granted, she didn't know Hiral all that well, but he was the only slave to survive her uprising. On the one hand, he could be a rallying symbol of his own for surviving alongside her; on the other hand, he was barely out of his teens, and Shepard didn't want a dead child on her conscience.

"I won't lie, I've got more than enough soldiers right now," Shepard said. "Besides, if you _really _want to fight alongside me, I'm going to have you go through some serious training to get you up to snuff."

If she was being honest with herself, Shepard was hoping that the training he'd be put through would make him regret wanting to fight. Maybe then she could persuade him to take a non-combat role.

Hiral nodded. "As you command, Your Holiness."

There wasn't even a second of hesitation; she could see that he would charge into hell if she asked. She almost sighed; she should have known that would have happened.

"Until then…" Shepard shrugged. "I could use another aide, one that isn't commanding forces already. Can you handle a schedule, take messages, that kind of thing?"

"I believe I can, Your Holiness."

"All right." Shepard sighed. "See about getting a bunk somewhere, get some rest. I'll be running you ragged later. For now, I have a suit to try on."

Hiral made the sign of the Aquila, and then a Scion escorted him away. Shepard opened the door to the arming chamber and beheld her new armor.

It was exquisitely made, and reminded her of her first suit of plate armor when she was in the Empire. The differences included the back-mounted generator, and the other mechanical parts. The artificers had offered to paint the armor gold, like many other Living Saints, but Shepard had declined; instead, it was a brilliant silver, though the shoulders and breastplate were decorated with a golden Aquila. At the center of the decorations were polished pieces of blackstone, with another piece set into the back of each gauntlet. After her interactions with the blackstone Noctilith Crowns, and when she used it in conjunction with her powers against the Iron Warriors, Shepard wanted to keep some of it with her at all times while in combat.

While the weapon she'd commissioned was still being created, Shepard was making do with a chainsword she'd borrowed from the Deltic Scorpions. It wasn't something she was used to, but there was a satisfying element to the roaring weapon. She also still had the bolt pistol, though the artificer had added some gold filigree since the last time she'd used it.

"What is it with the Imperium and gold?" Shepard asked herself as the mechanical arms of the chamber began the process of assembling the armor around her body. It was a rather arduous process, with hymns sung from speakers the entire time. By the time it was over, however, Shepard couldn't help but grin. The power armor enhanced her already considerable strength—even when not using her Saint powers—to a such a level that she felt like she could fight a Krogan on equal footing.

After her armor was on, she holstered her bolt pistol and mag-locked the chainsword to her hip before leaving the arming chamber. The doors opened to reveal the Scions and Sororitas on their knees, while the Space Marines and Skitarii nodded in respect.

"I won't lie," Shepard said casually as she flexed her hands. "This is the best armor I've ever had." She noticed one of the Intercessors twitch his head, and she thought he might have laughed. "All right, everyone here can return to their duties. I'm going back to the Senate and see if we all can find some cultists to kill." She realized that she might have sounded a little _too_ casual, and continued. "I'm eager to do the Emperor's work."

…

Chapter Master Zandtus wasn't as experienced as most non-Primaris Marines, but he had more than earned his position. His strategic capabilities, coupled with the experience of Temperance Blaise and Jonah Vils, and Xem-Beta's sheer computing power, made organizing tactical strikes almost easy.

Vigilus had had a strong garrison even before the opening of the Great Rift, and with the Nachmund Gauntlet's importance, it had only been strengthened. The many regiments stationed there had taken terrible losses during the War of Nightmares, but fresh troops and supplies were arriving by the day. More importantly for ridding the world of the Genestealer Cults, other ships were arriving with forces for the Shepard Crusade.

These forces, mainly Astra Militarum regiments and Mechanicus elements, were quickly placed under the command of Shepard's rapidly growing council of advisors. Though many of the troops were fresh, they were commanded by experienced leaders; between that and the numbers they brought to bear, Dirkden was cleared block by block.

Shepard understood the value of being a symbol, and made a point of being a part of major field operations. Her presence boosted morale, and soldiers fought with almost insane vigor; suicidal charges were only stopped when Shepard specifically said that she would rather have an army that could win a war, not a mountain of martyrs. Tempered by the intelligence of smarter officers and the direct command of a Living Saint, the soldiers began to fight with efficiency not usually seen by the hammer that was the Astra Militarum.

After almost three weeks of urban combat, Zandtus and the rest of Shepard's war council were confident that they had cornered the cult's Patriarch in the southernmost district of the Dirkden Hivesprawl. After looking over the holographic maps, Shepard agreed.

"We've moved our infantry to dug-in positions around the target location," Vils said. "Mechanicus forces are patrolling the sewers, in case the xenos try to escape through there."

"My sisters have been deployed to strategic checkpoints, both in the sewers and aboveground," Blaise continued. "If the foe tries to get through there, they will be met by holy fire."

"Once the perimeter is secure, strike teams from the Deltic Scorpions and my own Necropolis Hawks will enter and cut the head from the beast," Zandtus finished. "You are, of course, welcome to join us, Saint Shepard."

Shepard crossed her arms. "I don't like leaving things half-done, and I certainly don't like people fighting on my behalf."

"Very well," Zandtus said. "We move out in three hours."

…

Dirkden was overpopulated, even by the standards of a hive—that is, until the last few months. It had been discovered near the beginning of the war that most of the population was xenos hybrids, and since then, the Imperium had been conducting regular purges, slowly peeling apart the cult's defenses layer by layer. By the time the final operation was in place, billions were dead, and the pyres that burned away the bodies were fed every hour of every day.

Shepard stepped out of her Valkyrie, and immediately had to resist the urge to gag. The stench of overpopulation, pollution, and burning corpses was one of the fouler things she'd smelled in her life.

"Let's get this over with," she said. "Vils, lead the way."

The Tempestor Prime saluted, and led her to a gathering of Scions and Primaris Marines. There were a hundred of the former, and about fifty of the latter, led by their Chapter Master. Thirty of the Necropolis Hawks were Intercessors, the standard infantry of the Primaris Marines; they were armed with drum-fed auto bolt rifles, which were excellent for the close-up fighting that they would be doing. There was also a squad of Infiltrators and Reivers; both wore a variation of power armor that enhanced stealth and mobility, but didn't sacrifice protection. The Infiltrators were equipped with comms-disruption devices on their backpacks and gasmask-shaped helmets, and carried marksman bolt carbines, while the Reivers had heavy bolt pistols and knives as long as Shepard's arm. The Reivers were also rather terrifying in their skull-masked helms, and Shepard quickly realized that that was the point.

"Are we ready to go?" Shepard asked.

Zandtus nodded. "According to the Magos Dominus, we only have a two-kilometer area that needs to be searched."

Shepard chuckled. "You know, I'd say that two kilometers is pretty big, but then I remember that this is the Imperium, and nothing is ever done small."

"It would be difficult for us to move around if it wasn't," Zandtus said, and put on his own helmet.

Shepard gave him a delighted smile; true, the joke wasn't very funny, but most Space Marines she'd met had had no sense of humor, and the Necropolis Hawks were a breath of fresh air there.

"Let's finish this," she said, and followed the Space Marines into the darkness of the lower levels.

Thankfully, everyone was wearing a helmet that allowed for night vision, but it did nothing to alleviate the oppressive aura the sewers gave. Every step she took gave Shepard a stronger feeling of foreboding.

"_You know, if all else fails, we could just level this entire area with explosives," _Vils offered.

"If we do that, we might never find the Patriarch's body, and I don't know about you, but I don't think I'd feel good until I was sure he was dead." Shepard scowled behind her own helmet, a Sororitas design that felt like a knight's helm. "I've made that mistake before, and it cost me."

"_The Saint is correct," _Zandtus cut in. _"Better to be absolutely sure that the abomination is dead."_

"_Understood, my lord," _Vils said, not sounding offended in the slightest. _"It was just an option."_

They fell silent after that, and though less than an hour passed, Shepard felt like days had gone by. Finally, the Infiltrator squad, which had been scouting ahead, sent a quick message that they had spotted movement.

"_My warriors and I will take point," _Zandtus said in a tone that brooked no argument. _"Tempestor Prime, your troops will cover our rear. Advance thirty seconds after we do."_

Shepard's helm concealed her unimpressed glare, but she thought that Zandtus felt it. "I'm going with you."

There was a miniscule slump in the Chapter Master's shoulders that suggested he'd sighed, but he didn't argue. _"As you wish."_

Shepard drew her chainsword in her right hand, and her bolt pistol in her left. It had only been in recent weeks that she'd gotten used to fighting in such a manner again—after all, it had been decades since she'd fought like that when she'd been in the Empire—but now, she was confident.

"_Engage!" _Zandtus barked, and the Necropolis Hawks _moved_. Despite their bulk, they were incredibly fast, almost a blur as they rounded a corner and engaged the cultists trying to hold a chokepoint. In an instant, the sewers were filled with the deafening echoes of gunfire and screams.

By the time Shepard caught up with them, dozens of cultists were dead, killed by rapid-fire bolt shells, shredded by grenades, eviscerated by knives, or just crushed by fists and feet. In contrast, the worst any of the Space Marines suffered was some chipped paint on their armor. Shepard almost stopped mid-charge as she watched the Astartes work; their tactical efficiency left no movement wasted, and if one missed his shot, his brother would compensate and eliminate the target for him. It was almost beautiful.

Still, Shepard couldn't let herself get distracted in the middle of combat, so she rushed several of the remaining cultists. One's bulbous head exploded from a well-placed shot of her bolt pistol, and then she was among them, swinging her chainsword. The howling weapon carved into a cultist's belly, then her spine, and out the other side; Shepard was already shredding another cultist before the previous one's two halves hit the floor.

The entire battle took less than two minutes, and though the Scions arrived less than halfway through, there were so few targets left that they just held the perimeter until Shepard and the Necropolis Hawks were done.

"Well, that was… something," Shepard said as she shook gore from her chainsword; she ignored the blood that spattered her armor—she had been covered in worse in her career. She had never had the chance to work alongside the Space Marines before, though she had seen the results of their missions. They were efficient, but they were also some of the most brutal soldiers she'd ever seen.

"We'd best hurry," Zandtus said, his voice emerging from his vox-grille as a deep growl. "If the enemy did not know were here before, they do now."

The strike force moved at a faster pace, hoping to find the Patriarch before it tried to escape. Several times, they were ambushed by hordes of cultists as they swarmed out of tunnels and hidden entrances. Each time, they were beaten back by sustained bolter- and las-fire; a few of the assaults were fast, and the attackers melted back into the shadows, but the Imperials didn't pursue such obvious feints. In fact, as the attacks grew more vicious the further they went, it only convinced Shepard that they were going in the right direction.

The Imperials didn't emerge from these ambushes unscathed, though. A dozen Scions were dead, and several Hawks were injured; one Intercessor had even lost his arm, and carried his auto bolt rifle in one hand.

Eventually, they reached the innermost lair of the cult in a hollowed-out section under the sewers. The bones of previous generations of cultists made a macabre carpet that crunched with every footstep, and bloodstained trophies hung from rusty chains above them.

"_Movement detected ahead," _the Infiltrator squad's sergeant voxed from up ahead. _"Large, open area, many targets—primary target located, Master Zandtus. There are several hundred of its underlings between us and it."_

"_Prepare to engage," _Zandtus ordered. He pointed to the Reiver sergeant. _"Syoll, join Sergeant Jintan up ahead. When the battle begins, both of your squads will strike at the right flank. Tempestor Prime, your forces will take the left and suppress the enemy there. The rest of us will punch through to the target. Move fast, and strike with fury."_

On Zandtus' signal, they attacked; waiting for them were the hundreds of cultists and Genestealers that the Infiltrators had reported. More extreme varieties of cultists could be seen, including three-armed fighters with limbs that included crushing claws, and living swords. There were also hulking monsters that matched the Primaris Marines in mass, and carried enormous industrial tools as weapons.

Autogun rounds flew at the same time as bolt shells. The former pinged off advancing power armor, but the latter shredded the packed mass of screaming fanatics. On the right flank, the Infiltrators fired withering fusillades of pinpoint fire, covering the advance of the Reivers. The terror troops preceded their charge with disorienting grenades, allowing them an easy attack; their heavy bolt pistols and long knives reaped a bloody harvest as they fought through mobs of cultists.

Leading the charge, Zandtus tore his way through cultists. At first, he used his bolt rifle, but when he ran out of ammunition and had no time to reload, he switched to his power sword, a masterwork blade as long as a human leg. Moving at blinding speeds, he sliced apart a dozen Genestealers in as many seconds.

As impressive as the Necropolis Hawks were, the Deltic Scorpions were no less efficient. Their hot-shot lasguns left scores of corpses with hissing burns, while flamers, hot-shot volley guns, and meltaguns carved deep swathes through the waves of cultists.

And Shepard fought as hard as any of them. Her bolt pistol roared, blowing apart hybrid flesh with every shot. Her chainsword hewed heads from necks, and limbs from bodies; when she tapped into her power, the strength she employed caused bodies to explode with every chop or punch.

The cultists might have outnumbered them several times over, but the quality of the Imperial attackers was proving too much. It wasn't until the leaders of the cult stepped forward that the Imperials' momentum finally halted.

A man in ragged armor, carrying an organic sword in one of his three arms, charged into the Scions, at the head of a crowd of the more alien hybrids. Though they were met by a hail of fire, the hybrids' zealotry carried them through, and many Scions found themselves fighting in desperate hand-to-hand.

Seeing the Scorpions losing ground, Shepard flew over on her golden wings and landed in the middle of the hybrids. Now it was the cultists' turn to lose momentum as a glowing, winged woman crashed into them like an armed comet. As Shepard rampaged in their midst, the Scorpions reorganized and fired point-blank; in moments, even their leader fell, his head reduced to ash by Vils' plasma pistol.

On the other side of the chamber, a woman in robes and carrying an ornate staff strode towards the Reivers. She held out a hand, and purple lightning crackled around her eyes; a moment later, two of the Space Marines collapsed as their minds were destroyed by psychic power. The woman had barely turned to do it again when the Infiltrators focused all of their fire on her; even with a shield of psychic energy to protect her, the storm of bolt shells reduced her to streaks of gore after a few seconds.

A deafening roar shook the chamber as scores of Genestealers charged. Leading them was a monster that could only be the Patriarch; it had the same basic anatomy as a normal Genestealer, but this one was at least twice as large, with scythe-like talons on each limb, and an enlarged cranium that crackled with psychic power.

One squad of Intercessors was able to get a clear line of fire and unloaded everything they had at the onrushing horde. Some of the aliens fell, but for every one that died, two were able to dodge with impossible agility. The Infiltrators focused their attention on the Patriarch, Grandsire Wurm, but the shots that weren't stopped by a psychic barrier were blocked by Genestealers that willingly put themselves between their master and death.

"Focus all fire on the beast!" Zandtus roared, his vox-amplified voice audible even over the sound of battle.

With the Scions now free from close combat, Shepard flew up to the ceiling long enough for Vils to organize a crossfire between the Scions and the Necropolis Hawks. Many of the remaining cultists were slaughtered, along with a good number of the Genestealers, but the Patriarch was still unharmed. That needed to change.

Shepard pushed off from the ceiling and flew straight at Grandsire Wurm; with her powers active, her reflexes were sharper than they'd ever been, but the Patriarch was still able to block her chainsword with one of its four hands. Shepard used her momentum to swing her legs forward; her power-armored feet connected solidly with the alien's jaw with a satisfying crack.

Shrieking in pain, Grandsire Wurm slammed Shepard onto the ground and brought its talons up to finish her. By then, however, Zandtus was there, his sword raised to block the blow. Several of the surviving Reivers fought their way past the Genestealers and fired their heavy bolt pistols point-blank into the Patriarch. In a move so fast that Shepard almost didn't see it, huge talons tore the head from one Reiver, and then impaled Zandtus through the chest.

"No!" Shepard got back to her feet and lunged; with its arms busy mauling the Hawks, the Patriarch was unable to stop Shepard from ramming her chainsword into its exposed throat. Amazingly, it was still alive, and continued to thrash about.

"Just die already, you son of a bitch!" Out of the corner of her eye, Shepard saw a talon heading her way, but with her chainsword lodged in the alien's flesh, she couldn't block in time.

Once again, Zandtus came to her rescue. Despite his injuries, he managed to swing his sword in an executioner's blow that severed the Patriarch's arm at the wrist. That bought Shepard the time she needed to drag her chainsword down the monster's throat and down its torso. Alien blood poured from the gaping wound, drenching Shepard in gore, but as she tore her chainsword free, Grandsire Wurm only twitched once, and then was still.

The effect of the Patriarch's death was immediate. The remaining Genestealers paused as their master's control faded; it wasn't for long, but it gave the Space Marines the time they needed to put them down. The cultists that had managed to survive either flung themselves into Imperial fire, or fled into tunnels; las- and bolter-fire harried them until they vanished into the darkness, but they weren't pursued.

As the echoes of combat faded, Shepard took stock of their losses. Nearly thirty of the Deltic Scorpions were dead, and many of the rest were wounded. The Necropolis Hawks had only lost eight of their number, and had nearly twice that who needed medical attention, including Zandtus.

"Stay still," Shepard said as she crouched by the Chapter Master, who sat by a mound of Genestealer corpses, a severed claw still buried in his chest.

"I will recover," Zandtus said, and tore the claw free in a wash of blood. Amazingly, the wound coagulated in seconds. "Only my secondary heart was damaged."

"You have two hearts?" Shepard looked down at his chest, and then his face.

"And a third lung," Zandtus added. Shepard could tell he was smirking behind his helm. "What is the matter?"

Shepard laughed tiredly as she sat next to him. She watched as one of the Infiltrators moved to the dead Space Marines and jabbed a needle-tipped device into their bodies, removing a set of organs from each.

"It is a solemn duty, preserving our Chapter's future," Zandtus said. "But those whose progenoid glands are saved guarantee that new Astartes take their place."

Shepard wanted to learn more, but something told her that Zandtus had already given her more than he normally would. Instead, she just nodded.

"I think we've done what we need to on Vigilus," she said. "It's time to get this Crusade started."

…

Another month passed, and Vigilus was quickly stabilizing. With their leadership killed and regular purges in the lower levels of the hives, the remaining cultists couldn't maintain a hold anywhere. In a few years, all trace of their existence would be wiped out.

During this time, Shepard began to understand just how important her Crusade was to people. Dozens of capital ships, belonging to the Imperial Navy, Adeptus Mechanicus, and the entirety of the Necropolis Hawks, made up their naval strength, while over a hundred smaller craft carried her armies.

The most numerous part of her force was the Astra Militarum; over seventy regiments had been sent, ranging from light infantry to super-heavy formations. The infantry elements alone numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The Adeptus Mechanicus sent thousands of Skitarii, battle-servitors, and hundreds of vehicles, plus their technical skills, as frustrating as they were to Shepard.

The Order of Our Martyred Lady had also sent an impressive roster. Ten entire preceptories had joined under Blaise's command—ten thousand Sororitas, along with their accompanying vehicles, ships, and support personnel.

Finally, there were the Space Marines. The fleet-based Necropolis Hawks numbered just under one thousand, making them the smallest of Shepard's allies in terms of numbers, but each Primaris Marine was easily worth a hundred normal soldiers.

More than once, Shepard felt like a fraud. She was willing to accept that the Emperor had chosen her, for one reason or another, but everyone looked to her as if she was a messiah, even though she had no idea what to _do _with this Crusade. The best she could do was look the part, and hope that the Emperor at least pointed her in the right direction.

The one good thing, she mused as she stepped onto the shuttle that would take her off Vigilus forever, was that she finally had the weapon she'd commissioned. Technically, it had been forged only a few weeks after she'd presented her design, but Hadrian Rex, her Crusade's Ecclesiarchy-appointed spiritual leader, had insisted on performing blessing after blessing. It was only a few days earlier that, during a ceremony full of pomp and gravitas, she'd been presented with _Liberator_.

Shepard patted the haft of the weapon fondly as she sat down in the shuttle. _Liberator _was not a pretty weapon, nor was it subtle; it was a war-pick, with an Aquila-pressed hammer on one side, and a long, curved blade on the other, all of which would be surrounded by a power field when active. Unlike a typical war-pick, the blade was not a spike that tapered to a point, but was more like the blade of a scythe. Shepard could use it to stab, cut, or smash a target.

_Liberator _had been made with Gregor in mind; her late husband, and the knights he'd led, used war-picks as their traditional weapon, and Shepard wanted to honor his memory by carrying a weapon inspired by his.

The other way she kept Gregor close was on the other end of the haft. Shepard had specifically requested that the top of her broken cane be attached to _Liberator_. Thankfully for her, no one had asked questions.

_I know you'd want me to keep going, _she thought as her armored fingers brushed over the Griffon-head. _I will, I promise. But I think I'm allowed to keep a part of you with me while I do, right? Besides, if there really is something after death, maybe you'll use this to keep me safe. Deal?_

Gregor couldn't answer her, of course; he was long dead. Still, Shepard nodded to herself, and her nerves steadied.

The time for hesitation was over. Now was the time for war.

**Holy crap, this chapter took way too long to write! I would have had it done sooner, but I've been dealing with a lot of stuff lately. I won't go into details, but I've been really stressed, which led to me getting sick, and when I get sick, I don't sleep. This turned into a vicious cycle for a while, until I basically passed out.**

**Anyway, Abaddon is pissed, the Nachmund Gauntlet is even larger and more stable than before, the Genestealer Cult on Vigilus is broken, and Shepard has a signature weapon! I had the design for **_**Liberator **_**in my mind for a while, and I hope you like it! The Shepard Crusade is also ready to launch… sort of. Shepard still needs to meet her top naval and Astra Militarum officers, and I have to reveal what kind of ships make up her fleet.**

**Also, the Necropolis Hawks are canon, though there is almost nothing known about them. They're a Primaris Chapter, descended from the Raven Guard, and they apparently have a sense of humor. It isn't much better than most Space Marines, but by their standards, the Hawks are comedians. They were present on Vigilus in huge numbers (seven whole companies), and since there's nothing on where they might live, I decided that they were fleet-based, and the rest showed up to join the Crusade. Oh, and Zandtus is also canon, but again, there's no information on him.**

**Like I said earlier, I've been very stressed. Part of that is, as usual, my financial problems. My book sales are nowhere close enough to support me, but you can help by going to my website (link in my profile), or go to Amazon and look up **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. More sales garner more attention, which in turn garner more sales.**

**You can also be an awesome person by donating on my P-atreon page. Remember, if enough of you donate, I'll be able to write fan fiction all the time, and I know you'd like that!**

**And now, I'd like to thank my awesome patrons!**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Carl Bjorkhall, Casey Pak**

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**Next Chapter: Shepard receives her first mission, but also something more…**

**The Muffin protects!**


	6. Vision

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THE STATE OF MICHIGAN HAS FORBIDDEN ME FROM ENTERING, THANKS TO MY CRUSADE AGAINST LAWN GNOMES, THE LITTLE BASTARDS.**

**Weapons? Check.**

**Armies? Check.**

**Fleet? Check.**

**An actual destination? Uh… lemme get back to you on that.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 6

Vision

Shepard thought she had started to get a hang of the Imperium's incredible scale, right up until she saw the ships they used in battle. In the universe she'd been born in, a ship's size was limited by Element Zero; the bigger the ship, the more eezo required to power it, which meant that, at one point, ships of a certain size became unfeasible. The largest vessel she'd ever seen, other than the Reapers, had been the _Destiny Ascension_, a dreadnought that was over a kilometer long.

To the Imperium, kilometer-long ships were considered an _escort vessel_. Though they used the term 'battleships' for their dreadnoughts, they also had far more than anything back home.

The command vessel of her Crusade was an old _Retribution_-class battleship that was named the _Vehemence_. She was just over eight kilometers long, automatically making her the largest warship in her home galaxy's history by a wide margin. Of course, her sheer mass put her on a scale that Shepard could barely comprehend, and she was armed to the teeth; warship-killing lance batteries lined her dorsal section, while her sides were lined with row upon row of broadside cannons. Her armored, wedge-shaped prow had huge torpedo launchers built inside. Propelling this monster of a warship was a suite of engines whose exhausts glowed like a sun, and though most of the ship was painted a blue-grey, there was a golden shrine to the Emperor that stood out, nestled on top of the ship's rear third, glinting in the light of Vigilus' star.

As Shepard's shuttle landed in the _Vehemence_'s cavernous hangar, she noticed wings of fighters and bombers waiting. The ship was so big that it could afford to be a battleship _and _a carrier. Once the light by the shuttle's door switched from red to green, Shepard finally set foot on her flagship.

If she hadn't been told in advance that it would happen, she would have been surprised by the sudden stamp of hundreds of boots on the deck as the ship's armsmen and fifty Deltic Scorpions stood at attention. The armsmen themselves were impressive, their flak armor painted the same as their ship, and armed with shotguns and las carbines; they held themselves professionally, though after spending so much time with the Deltic Scorpions, Shepard could see that they just weren't of the same caliber.

"Welcome aboard the _Vehemence_, Saint Shepard," Vils said from his position in front of his soldiers. "With your permission, we can escort you to the bridge. High Admiral Dartan is waiting for your arrival."

Shepard looked around at the massive hangar, taking in the sight of machines she could only dream of. "I'd ask for a tour of the ship, but I think we'd all die of old age before we reached the bridge."

Vils wasn't wearing his helmet, only a red beret, so Shepard could see his smile. "You're probably right. Even then, it will take us a while to reach the bridge."

Shepard made an elaborate show of pretending to look at a watch. "Well, at least it's still morning, so we've got time."

Vils dismissed the ship's armsmen, leaving just the Scorpions as Shepard's guard. As they headed to a transport that would reduce their journey to the bridge from a few days to less than an hour, Shepard began to speak.

"Hey, how's Hiral's training coming along?"

"He's determined, I'll give him that," Vils allowed. "He didn't attend the Schola Progenium, so he'll never be able to join my regiment, but the squad in charge of his training was impressed. He still has a long way to go, though."

Shepard just shrugged. Hiral was running himself ragged training to be worthy to fight in the Crusade; when he wasn't doing that, he was effectively Shepard's secretary, organizing meetings and keeping her on schedule while she continued learning all she could about the Imperium. She was impressed with Hiral's dogged determination, pushing through the worst exhaustion and coming out stronger for it.

"I've got a good feeling about him," Shepard said. "Keep working him hard, and if he proves himself to your troops, I'll approve him coming out into the field."

The two shared small talk for the rest of the ride, mostly discussing what the other thought of the various forces that had joined the Crusade. Neither of them could say much about the various Astra Militarum regiments, since they hadn't fought alongside them—only two were from Vigilus, but they weren't ones they knew. Many of the newly-mustered regiments had gotten at least a little experience on Vigilus, and the veterans kept their skills sharp.

When they eventually reached the bridge, they had to wait further while the thick bulkhead slowly sank into the deck. The bridge contained a dozen officers, and twice as many servitors attached to consoles, their functions a mystery that Shepard could only guess at. Beyond the viewports, Shepard could see the many ships that were pledged to her Crusade, from the bulky Imperial Navy craft, to the lumbering Mechanicus ships that glowed with esoteric energies, to the predatory vessels of the Necropolis Hawks. Most of her attention, however, was on the man who sat at the center of it all, on a raised platform.

High Admiral Sirruk Dartan was old, even by the standards of the Imperium. His dark skin was deeply lined, and the hair on the right side of his head was greyer than Shepard's had ever been; the left side of his head was bald, and was instead dotted with cybernetics, including a trio of thick cables that ran from his scalp to under his high collar. His skeletal, augmetics hands gripped the arms of his command throne, which rotated to face the new arrivals.

"Saint Shepard," Dartan said, his voice coming out raspy, but strong as he bowed in his seat. "Welcome aboard the _Vehemence_. She will serve you and the Emperor well, as will I."

Shepard put on her best smile as she walked up to the old man. "I'm sure you and this beautiful ship will do everyone proud, High Admiral. I've been on this ship for an hour, and I already love her."

Dartan smiled the same way a grandfather would if his grandchildren said they wanted stories. "If you haven't already, I can provide you with a list of battle honors the _Vehemence _has received. She has served for nine thousand years, so that list is quite extensive."

Shepard winked. "And I'll bet you've added your fair share to that list, right?"

Dartan chuckled. "I would not dare to boast to a Living Saint." A chime from a station below made him frown. "Forgive me, Your Holiness, but there are matters of the fleet that I must attend to."

Shepard bowed her head respectfully. "Of course, High Admiral. I believe that I have a meeting in the strategium soon. Will you be joining us?"

"The first official meeting of the Crusade's leadership?" Dartan drew himself up proudly. "I would not miss it."

Shepard smiled again, and she and her escort withdrew from the bridge. Thankfully for them, the strategium was close to the bridge, so the walk was only a few minutes long. They weren't the first to arrive; Temperance Blaise and Hadrian Rex were already present.

"Ah, Saint Shepard!" Rex bowed, as did Blaise. "It is good to see you, on the eve of this glorious Crusade!"

Shepard just nodded; part of her was still very uncomfortable with the level of religious zeal the Imperium displayed. She had thought she'd seen the worst of it from Michael back home, but this was something else.

The door opened once again, revealing yet another familiar face. Zandtus inclined his head as he walked in; Shepard noticed that, despite his size and bulky armor, Zandtus barely made a sound as he moved. Shepard glanced at his chest; the wound he'd received at the Patriarch's claws had healed, and his armor had been repaired. Such was the Necropolis Hawks' artificers' skill that, if Shepard hadn't seen him so badly hurt, she wouldn't have known his armor had been damaged at all. As someone who appreciated fine craftsmanship, Shepard approved.

"High Admiral Dartan is dealing with fleet positioning, as well as some unfortunate politics," Zandtus said without preamble. "He will join us once he has smoothed some ruffled feathers."

"What kind of politics?" Shepard asked as she took her seat.

To her surprise, it was Hadrian who answered. "Everyone pledged to this Crusade has done so earnestly, Your Holiness, but the old faults of man still persist. Some of our forces have long-standing grudges, and until they bond on the field of battle, it is best that their respective vessels stay away from each other. We do not want to risk them firing upon each other."

"Wonderful." Shepard closed her eyes and silently counted backwards from ten. "We haven't even started, and parts of our army already want to kill each other."

The doors hissed open before anyone could comment, and the one member of Shepard's council that she hadn't met strode in.

"Ah, so many of you are here early!" The booming voice caught Shepard by surprise. "Absolutely spot on!"

Lord-Marshal Stevron Helmin did not look like he was over eighty years old, as his file suggested. Frequent juvenat treatments and healthy living gave him the appearance of a man in his early thirties. His brown hair was slicked back, and his handlebar mustache was waxed; his skin was almost unhealthily pale, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. He wore a gleaming silver breastplate, replete with medals and ribbons on a sash, and an immaculate forest-green uniform. Over it all, he wore a cloak, lined with the fur of an animal Shepard didn't recognize.

Overall, she would have considered him a fop, if not for two things. First, his record was impressive, having led eleven victorious campaigns against aliens and heretics alike, many of them across entire systems. Second, despite his flamboyant attire and attitude, he had his cloak adjusted perfectly so that he could draw his pistol and sword without difficulty.

"Lord-Marshal," Shepard greeted with a nod. "Welcome aboard."

Helmin grinned widely, even as he bowed. "Saint Shepard, it is an honor to be in your illustrious presence! Had I known that your beauty exceeded the wildest rumors, I would have come sooner!"

_Oh, for the love of… _Shepard almost buried her head in her hands. _It's like having Locke back, only he commands whole armies._

Zandtus and Vils were wearing their helmets, but the way they turned toward the Lord-Marshal suggested they were giving him strange looks. Blaise and Rex, however, looked outraged, and the former rested her hand on her power sword's hilt.

"You dare—"

"Easy, everyone," Shepard said, gently pushing Blaise back into her seat as she tried to rise. "I can tell that he was just being polite."

Helmin wasn't stupid, and caught the hint immediately. "Of course, Your Holiness, my apologies for any offense caused. It is expected among the nobility of my homeworld to flatter ladies of higher standing."

The strangest thing was that Shepard actually believed him. Still, Blaise nodded after another moment of glaring at the man, and Rex had already smoothed his features.

"Now that we're all friends," Helmin went on, as if nothing had happened, "I meant it when I approved of everyone getting here early. I imagine that the Mechanicus component to our group will be here exactly on time, though I hear that the High Admiral is busy. Shall we wait for him before starting?"

"It would be rude if we started without him," Shepard pointed out. "It's _his _ship, after all."

A moment later, the door slid open once again, and Xem-Beta skittered inside; Shepard noted with some amusement that it was now exactly when the meeting was scheduled to begin.

"Greetings," Xem-Beta said, followed by a squawk of binary. "This meeting is meant to facilitate unit cohesion, correct? All data is available through personnel files."

Shepard just politely smiled. "Sorry for any inconvenience, Magos, but most people like to meet face-to-face at least once."

Xem-Beta's triple-lensed optic clicked as it rotated clockwise, then counterclockwise. "Inefficient, but understandable. Where is High Admiral Dartan?"

"Arriving now, Magos," Dartan said as he slowly walked in. He leaned heavily on a cane—Shepard empathized, having done the same for years, and had she not seen the way he proudly held himself, she would have helped him to a seat. "Now that we are all present, are there any matters that must be addressed before we depart?"

Shepard didn't miss the way everyone, even Rex and Blaise, glanced at her. She didn't blame them; even she didn't know where they were going, and she was supposed to have that kind of information. At that point, she was starting to worry that the Emperor had just given her power, but no direction.

Fortunately, Helmin came to her rescue. "I won't be so arrogant as to claim to know the God-Emperor's mind, but I am certain He will guide His Saint when it is time."

Rex nodded. "Agreed. We must all be patient; the God-Emperor is not some functionary whose favors can be summoned, but we can still ask. I will lead a prayer for His guidance until we have it."

"And I'll be… meditating in my quarters," Shepard said. "I'm still new to being a Saint, so I can't say I know what speaking to the Emperor is like, but I might have a better chance if I'm somewhere quiet."

"Your personal effects have already been transferred to your quarters, Your Holiness," Dartan said calmly. "I have been informed that the necessary prayers, wardings, and holy writings have all been applied."

Shepard nodded her thanks, first to Dartan, and then to Rex and Blaise, who almost certainly had something to do with it.

"I know that this was only a short meeting, but I'm glad we all came together today," she said. "I thought it would be a good idea if all of us met in person at least once, especially since we'll be campaigning together for a while. Before we return to our stations, are there any matters that need to be brought to everyone's attention?"

"A few more ships were added to the fleet," Dartan said. "Mostly escort squadrons and a pair of cruisers. They emerged from the Warp just before you arrived on the ship, Your Holiness; they were not scheduled to join the Crusade, but then again, half of our ships are volunteers anyway."

"Hey, the more the merrier," Shepard said with a smile. "I certainly won't complain if we have a few extra guns." She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "I know I said this during operations on Vigilus, but there is something I want to make clear.

"I'm aware that many commanders within the Imperium are happy to sacrifice the lives of their soldiers if it means achieving victory. I don't want thousands of men and women lost just to take a hill or something; massed infantry charges should be the absolute _last _resort."

"Of course, Your Holiness," Helmin said with a bow. "I myself prize efficiency over needless sacrifice. It is far easier to see the ruined remnants of the foe when it is not blocked by a mountain made of the bodies of the loyal."

_Good, he gets it, _Shepard thought. "Exactly. I don't want a Crusade of martyrs; we won't get far if we lose an entire regiment for every battle we win."

The nods from Zandtus and Vils showed that they approved, and Shepard thought that Xem-Beta agreed—the Mechanicus were usually creatures of logic, so efficiency in battle likely struck a chord with him. While Blaise and Rex appreciated the destruction of the Imperium's enemies, they also saw death in service to the Emperor as a blessing, so they were probably a little conflicted. Shepard hoped that their first campaign was a resounding success, thus vindicating her decision to them.

"Very good." Shepard stood up, followed by everyone else. "If there's nothing else, please return to your stations and be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

…

Several hours passed, and Shepard was beginning to grow frustrated. She'd tried meditating, praying, even talking to herself in an effort to get the Emperor's attention; so far, all she'd gotten was a headache.

"Come on, you're supposed to be guiding me," Shepard hissed through clenched teeth. "What do I have to do to get your attention?"

Shepard pulled her fist back, ready to punch a wall in anger, when a thought came to her. Her powers came from rage; maybe channeling her power would help her connect to the Emperor? It had kind of worked when she'd first used them, after all.

Shepard moved to the center of her quarters—a rather lavish affair that included expensive rugs and a gold-chased marble desk—and knelt. She focused on her anger, stoking it until she almost saw red; her body glowed with golden light, and her wings materialized behind her. It took her a moment to master the angry voices she heard; she was certain that, if someone were to enter her quarters at that moment, she would have attacked them. Once her power stabilized, she worked to enter a meditative state while also maintaining her anger.

Just when Shepard was starting to wonder if she was wrong, everything went dark.

…

_There was no ship, there was no room. She was in a dark forest, the night sky illuminated only by the stars and moon. Shepard recognized the trees; she'd spent part of her survival training in these very woods. Somehow, she had been taken to Earth—or Terra, as it was called now. But this wasn't the Terra she'd seen pictures of; the homeworld of humanity had no trees, just endless cities._

_She was seeing Terra as it had once been._

_Shepard took a step forward, but found herself feeling weak. She looked down at her hands; instead of the smooth skin of her youth, she was once again an old woman. To her surprise, she also had her cane again, and used it to support her as she walked into a clearing. In the center of that clearing was a fire pit, piled high with ash and half-burned wood; only a few glowing embers remained of a once-great flame._

_Sitting on a ring of stone seats at the edge of the pit was a man, swaddled in an old cloak, his features concealed by a hood. He showed no sign of noticing Shepard, and kept poking at the embers with a stick._

"_I don't think it's working," Shepard said, surprised that her voice still sounded young, though her body was old._

_The old man—and Shepard could now tell that he _was _old, with hands so wrinkled they made hers look like a child's—continued to prod the embers._

"_If I do nothing, the last of the flame will go out," the man said. His voice was deep and contained the wisdom of ages, though it sounded so, so tired. "This may not restore the fire, but I can keep some of it alive."_

"_Have you tried blowing on it?" Shepard asked as she sat on her own seat, on the other side of the pit._

"_I would have to stop what I am doing now," the man said sadly. "If I cease, even for a moment, the embers will die before I can do anything else."_

_Shepard looked down at the embers, and realized that the man was right. "What if you had help?"_

_The man chuckled. "Who would help me? You? You do not even know who I am, or where you are."_

_Shepard just shrugged. "It's cold out here, and the fire will keep us warm. Give me a second."_

_Before the man could protest, Shepard hobbled over to the pit and began to gently blow on the embers. To her delight, the smallest sticks caught flame; her joy diminished, however, when she noticed just how slowly the fire moved. It was almost in slow motion._

"_This isn't real, is it?" Shepard asked as she sat back down._

_The man didn't answer at first. He was transfixed by the slowly crackling fire. Finally, he looked up at Shepard; his face was swallowed up by shadows, but she could tell that he was surprised._

"_I never thought that would happen," he said, almost in wonder. "It has been a long time since anyone offered to help me. Everyone only asks of me, when I have nothing left to give."_

"_You didn't answer my question," Shepard said. "This isn't real. I remember these woods; we're in Alaska."_

"_Are we?" The man sounded amused now. "It has been ages since anyone knew this place had a name, much less spoke it aloud. But, yes, you are right; this is not real, not in the corporeal sense. This is… a representation, you could say, a way for your mind to put things into context that you can understand."_

_Shepard was quiet as she turned her attention to the flames; they were still small, but they were more than embers now._

"_Who are you?" she asked._

_The man chuckled again. "You may call me… Revelation. It is good to meet you, Alexia Shepard."_

_Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall telling you my name, 'Revelation'. And if that's your real name, I'll eat my boot."_

"_You had best begin cooking," Revelation said. "I have had many names in my lifetime. All of them were true, yet all of them were false."_

_Shepard idly drew random scribbles in the dirt with her cane. "You're the Emperor, aren't you?"_

_In the darkness, the trees rustled, and wolves howled. A chill went up Shepard's spine, and Revelation clutched his stick tighter._

"_Be careful what you say," he warned. "Names have power, and power can attract unwanted attention, even in places such as this."_

_Shepard took his words as confirmation that she was right. "I have questions."_

"_I am sure that you do," Revelation said. "But we have little time. Your assistance with the fire reduced the time you would have spent talking to me. Perhaps next time, when you have more power."_

_Shepard felt an odd pulling sensation, as if there was a hand on her shoulder that was gently leaning her back._

"_Wait! I came here because I need to know where to go next!"_

_Revelation nodded slowly. "Trust your instincts, Alexia Shepard, and trust your nature. You will know your destination when the time comes."_

_Shepard opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to come out. Revelation, the campfire, and the forest all vanished like smoke in a breeze._

…

Shepard's eyes snapped open, and she pitched forward, barely able to break her fall with her arms. Only moments had passed, yet it felt like days; her limbs trembled, and sweat drenched her body.

"What… the fuck… was that?" she gasped out.

When she finally regained the ability to stand, she paused only long enough to down a glass of water, and then hurried out of her quarters. She had an idea that she wanted to try.

As she rushed to the bridge, she almost barreled into Hiral, whose arms were laden with dataslates. In a surprising display of agility, he managed to catch several of them before they hit the deck.

"Saint Shepard, what—"

"No time!" Shepard called over her shoulder. "Follow me to the bridge!"

Dartan was surprised when Shepard practically sprinted into his domain. "Your Holiness, is something the matter?" He noticed how ragged Shepard looked. "What happened?"

"No time," Shepard said, her breath coming in short bursts. "I need a map of the galaxy, quick!"

Dartan frowned, but pointed her to a small station off to his right. A Tech-Priest brought up a hologram of the galaxy, which included the Great Rift, and was highlighted by important systems. Shepard barely acknowledged the Tech-Priest as her eyes darted across the map.

After a moment to calm herself, she reached out with one hand; all eyes that didn't belong to servitors followed her every move. It felt strange; Shepard almost thought that someone else was guiding her actions, but she followed Revelation's advice and trusted her instincts. Finally, Shepard rested one finger on a tiny dot.

"There," she whispered. "We need to go there."

Dartan raised an eyebrow, then keyed up the coordinates of the system she'd indicated. Immediately, his personal dataslate blinked red with warnings.

"Saint Shepard, I do not mean to question you, but that system is off-limits to all but the highest authorities in the Imperium."

Shepard huffed a laugh. "Well, I answer directly to the Emperor, so I think I win."

Dartan conceded the point. "Very well. It will take us several Warp-jumps to cross back into Imperium Sanctus and properly align—"

"No," Shepard interrupted, her instincts guiding her once again. "Set a straight course. We're going to punch straight through the Rift." Murmurs flooded the bridge, and Dartan looked like he thought she was insane. "Please, just trust me."

After a moment, Dartan sighed. "As the God-Emperor wills." He turned to his officers. "Inform the fleet to make for the Mandeville Point, and then set a direct course for Prospero. In the Emperor's name!"

"In the Emperor's name," the officers echoed.

Shepard leaned against the hololithic display as the _Vehemence _powered up her engines. Finally, the Crusade was beginning.

"In the Emperor's name," she whispered.

**Before anyone asks, no, Shepard isn't about to have a showdown with Magnus the Red, awesome as that might be. I have something else in mind.**

**Anyway, this chapter was shorter, but that's because it was mostly focused on meeting the last two members of Shepard's war council. Dartan was fun to create, and so was Helmin, though I will admit that the latter was inspired by Locke. This guy, however, is turning up the bombastic to eleven.**

**Many people messaged me with requests to give Shepard an **_**Apocalypse- **_**or even **_**Emperor-**_**class battleship to ride in. Okay, even if she **_**is **_**a Living Saint with one of the most important powers ever discovered in the Imperium, those ships are stupidly rare. The **_**Retribution**_**-class might be old as hell, but they're far more common, and I like them.**

**That scene with Revelation was actually inspired by a scene from the book **_**The Solar War**_**, by John French. It's an amazing book, if you haven't read it.**

**Also, I wasn't too sure where Shepard's Crusade was actually going to go, so I just kinda threw darts at a map of the 40K galaxy. It ended up landing really close to Prospero, so there we go. I mean, I have about a billion different ideas for what Shepard could do in this story, so this is where we're starting.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading so far! If you want to continue supporting me, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. It can be found on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon.**

**You can also be awesome and support me on P-atreon. Those who donate at a high enough tier will get my book for free!**

**And now, I'd like to thank the following patrons: Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, The Big What If, MeddlingTiger**

**Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225, Brian McGloughlin, Definitely not Dio**

**Ultra Muffins: Vlarto, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Shepard blazes a new trail, quite literally, and goes to the world where all was burned, and all is dust…**

**We are Spehss Muffins! We are the Emprah's Fureh!**

**There, I made that meme. Are you happy?**


	7. Pathway

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MY PET SQUIGGOTH AND THRESHER MAW ARE FIGHTING, GUYS. CAN SOMEONE HELP ME STOP THEM?**

**Something I noticed during reviews of the last chapter: Did no one realize that Shepard had just ordered a Warp jump **_**through **_**the Cicatrix Maledictum? That's kind of a big deal, not to mention suicidal, but Shepard's doing it anyway.**

**Let's see how well that goes.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 7

Pathway

Shepard had been unable to get much information on the otherworldly dimension known as the Warp. Almost everything was heavily censored or outright impossible to access. All she could find out were some basic safety tips when entering the Warp. Unfortunately, those tips were either very basic, or just silly, and if Shepard hadn't had prior experience with the forces of Chaos, she might not have taken them seriously.

Some tips mentioned never looking into the Warp itself—which was why the _Vehemence_'s blast shutters were lowered before entering the massive portal generated in front of her—or else madness would set in. Other tips suggested praying as hard as possible for the Emperor's protection from the Daemons that lived inside the Warp.

Despite the dangers, Warp-travel was the Imperium's fastest method of transportation—as long as something didn't go horribly wrong—and with the Mechanicus unable to comprehend the idea of creating something better, that was unlikely to change.

When Shepard had ordered the fleet to jump to Prospero _through _the Great Rift, there had been some panic among the lesser captains. Passing through such a Warp-anomaly was suicide, they argued; they had far more experience with this kind of travel than Shepard, and normally, she would have heeded their words. However, this wasn't a normal situation, and her instincts were telling her that this was the best course of action.

After explaining her vision—or perhaps conversation was the better word—Hadrian Rex had announced to the entire fleet that the Living Saint was being directly guided by the God-Emperor. That had silenced most of the protests rather quickly. Still, Shepard decided that she would have to show them all that she wasn't making a mistake, and had the _Vehemence _make the jump alone. If there was no sign of the battleship's destruction, the rest of the fleet would follow.

This all hinged on the _Vehemence _and her crew actually surviving the trip, and if Shepard was being honest with herself, she had no idea if they would.

Once again, she found herself trusting her instincts and returned to her quarters. When the doors were securely locked, she tapped into powers; while in the Warp, closer to her connection to the Emperor, she had access to even more energy, and in a place where thought became reality, she used that to protect her ship.

The ship's Navigator first thought that the Gellar field had collapsed. However, when the golden light surrounding the ship actually pushed back the forces of Chaos that tried to consume them, he knew it was something else. Later, he would go on to describe massive golden wings that materialized on the ship's flanks, and how every flap caused the Immaterium to recoil.

Without the Warp able to cause problems, the _Vehemence _arrived at the edge of the Prospero system after only a few days. While the crew praised the Emperor and their Living Saint for their good fortune, Shepard nearly collapsed.

"Son of… a bitch," she gasped out; even with her armor supporting her, she was trembling badly. "I didn't think that would suck so much."

Shepard gave herself another day to recover before heading to the bridge. As she walked, guarded by the Deltic Scorpions, she noticed passing crew stare at her with even more awe than before.

"Something happened, didn't it?" she asked Vils. "Beyond me keeping the ship safe, I mean."

As always, Vils was composed. "It's not my place to understand such matters, Your Holiness, but I'm sure the High Admiral will be able to explain it." His helmet was on, but Shepard swore he was smiling. "I think your legend is already growing, though."

Shepard sighed heavily. "Story of my life," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Shepard grumbled. "Come on, let's pick up the pace."

The bridge was full of awed mutterings, but it had nothing to do with Shepard—at least, that's what it looked like to her. Dartan was sitting in front of the map of the galaxy, frowning thoughtfully in his chair; he nodded respectfully as soon as Shepard stepped into view.

"Your Holiness," he greeted. "It seems that you have performed another miracle."

Shepard glanced at the map, and noticed that a tech-adept had altered it slightly—there was now a thin line cutting from Vigilus, through the Cicatrix Maledictum, all the way to Prospero.

"Okay, what did I do?"

Dartan looked up at her with nothing short of amazement on his face. "We are maintaining contact with the rest of the fleet _through _the Great Rift. It would appear that your actions created a new pathway from one side of the galaxy to the other; it is small, but stable. The rest of the fleet will use this new corridor to reach us, and I will inform the necessary parties that we now have a new route to Vigilus."

It didn't take Shepard long to grasp how important this was. "You should probably wait a little longer before making that report, just in case this is temporary."

Dartan looked disappointed, but he reluctantly nodded. "Still, the ability to create even a temporary corridor for our fleet to travel between Imperium Sanctus and Imperium Nihilus is invaluable."

"Agreed." Shepard turned back to the map. "While we wait, can we get close enough to scan Prospero? We could get a better idea of what's waiting for us."

"It is… rather risky," Dartan admitted. "Without escort vessels, we are more vulnerable than I would like to admit."

"Whatever you think is best, High Admiral," Shepard said. "This is your ship, and I'm just a guest."

Eventually, Dartan decided to get close enough for extreme-range auspex scans. It wouldn't pick up anything too small, but large ships would certainly show up. Shepard was surprised to find out that there wasn't anything in orbit around Prospero.

"We wouldn't pick up anything smaller than a cruiser," Dartan said. "Not at this range, and especially if any foe is using comprehensive stealth systems. The Aeldari are one such example."

"All right, just keep me updated." Shepard bowed her head and turned to leave. "Getting us here took a lot out of me, and I'd like to recover more before we launch ground forces."

"As you wish, Your Holiness."

Shepard didn't let her uncertainty show on her face, but she had the same question on her mind as everyone else:

Why were they there?

…

Fortunately for the Shepard Crusade, the entire fleet managed to make it to Prospero without major incident. A few ships that had traveled too close to the edge of the new corridor had suffered minor damage that was already being repaired, a few headaches, and one rampaging psyker that was put down before he could kill anyone. Considering most Warp-related travels, that was miraculously boring.

By the time the fleet rejoined the _Vehemence_, Shepard had regained her strength, and was relaxing in the strategium when her war council arrived.

"A thousand blessings upon you, Saint Shepard," Hadrian said as he entered. "Truly, the God-Emperor has provided on this Crusade."

"I'm just glad I could help," Shepard said humbly. "Still, I'd like to keep Warp-jumps through the Rift to a minimum; doing that was exhausting, and I had to stay awake the entire trip to keep up that barrier."

"Of course, Your Holiness," Hadrian said with a bow. "The entire Crusade owes you the protection of their souls, regardless."

Shepard accepted the praise with a nod, then addressed the entire council, even if Xem-Beta only appeared as a hologram. "Have we learned anything new about Prospero?"

"_Auspex scans still show no signs of enemy activity in the void," _Xem-Beta reported. _"However, we have detected unusual energy signatures on the surface. This energy registers as psychic, but it is… difficult to identify."_

Shepard laced her fingers together in front of her lips. "For now, I'd like to keep our ground forces to a minimum. There's no point in landing everything we have if we're only going to be on the surface for a day."

Zandtus regarded her. "A heavy reconnaissance force, then?"

"Agreed. And I'll be leading it." Several people looked ready to protest, but Shepard fixed them with a look that had intimidated everything from common thugs to the most powerful of warlords. "I _need _to be on the ground. I don't know why, but I know that I need to be there."

"Then we will send forces to assist you," Blaise said firmly. "They will need to be mobile, but capable of defending themselves against heavy opposition. I can volunteer some of my Seraphim."

"And I will assign a force from my Tenth Company," Zandtus added. "You fought alongside some of them against the Patriarch on Vigilus."

"The Deltic Scorpions are yours to command," Vils said. "Take who you need, and they'll get the job done."

"_I will deploy Skitarii forces to aid you." _Xem-Beta didn't seem to care either way, but Shepard appreciated his support.

Helmin sighed dramatically. "Would that I had my own elite forces to assist you, Your Holiness. Sadly, while everyone else here wields scalpels and swords, I command a hammer. I fear I am of little use to you now."

"We can't always have a time to shine," Shepard said, but not unkindly. "Just make sure our forces are ready to deploy, just in case we need backup."

"As you command, Your Holiness."

"That goes for everyone else here who isn't coming with me… which I just realized is all of you, huh?" Shepard chuckled. "Well, I'll do my best to bring all of your people back alive."

"And they will do everything they can to ensure your safety," Hadrian said calmly, though there was a zealous glint in his eye. "I wish you the best of fortunes on the surface, Saint Shepard."

…

Shepard decided to add one more to her expedition; even if he didn't end up doing much, the look on Hiral's face as he was brought before Space Marines, Sororitas, Tempestus Scions, and the strange soldiers of the Mechanicus nearly made Shepard break into hysterics.

"Are y-you sure you want me to come with you, Y-Your Holiness?" Hiral asked nervously.

Shepard gave him a look. "You're the one who wanted to be on the front lines of this Crusade, kid."

Hiral swallowed. "Of c-course. Forgive me."

"Just get on the bird," Shepard said with a smirk as she joined one of the Scion squads' Valkyries.

Hiral looked uncomfortable as he sat down next to her, shifting nervously in his Militarum-green carapace armor and cradling his flamer. During his enhanced training, he had shown proficiency in a variety of weapons, but discovered a particular talent with the flamer. Though he no longer had a lasgun to attach it to, he still carried a knife on his hip, close to his extra tank of promethium.

"All right, we're here," Shepard called up to the pilot. "Get us down to the planet."

After a quick acknowledgement, the pilots of all of the landing craft took off. There was a shudder as they left the _Vehemence_, and there was noticeable tension inside the Valkyrie. Everyone was expecting some kind of trap—perhaps interceptors, or antiaircraft emplacements. However, their landing was completely uneventful; in fact, Shepard almost thought it was boring, but she quickly put a stop to that before she could tempt the universe.

The surface of Prospero was bleak, to say the least. Everywhere Shepard looked, she saw blasted desert, old craters, and dust kicked up by gusts of wind.

Hiral looked around and grimaced. "Is… is this it?"

"According to the scans, the ruins of the capital city are just up ahead." Shepard peered into the thick clouds of dust. "But, yeah, this place isn't much to look at."

"It is the ancient home of traitors," a Seraphim spat. "Reducing it to ruins is not enough; the entire planet should have been scorched in holy fire."

"I think it was," Shepard chided gently. During her recovery aboard the _Vehemence_, she had used her authority to bypass some of the censorship around information on Prospero, and though it wasn't much, it was better than nothing.

Apparently, one of the original Legiones Astartes, the Thousand Sons and their Primarch, Magnus the Red, had called Prospero their home. They were potent psykers, especially Magnus, but they had abused their power, and the Emperor had sent another Legion, the Space Wolves, to arrest them. Most of the world's surface had been destroyed from space, but when it reached the capital city of Tizca, it had turned into a fierce battle, and eventually, the entire planet was scorched of life. This had all happened almost eleven thousand years ago, but the planet was still off-limits to anyone who didn't have a _very _good reason to be there.

"Let's move out," Shepard ordered. "All gunships should remain at high altitude, but be ready to move in close if we need air support. Seraphim squads, fly ahead and see if anything is waiting for us between here and Tizca. Hawks, Skitarii, see if there's some good cover we can use on our approach; the rest of us will follow on foot for now."

The Seraphim took to the sky on their winged jump packs, their thrusters burning as they reached a high enough altitude. Shepard took a moment to admire the Sororitas as their jump packs cut out, and they fell gracefully back down, only stopped from fatally impacting the ground with a timely application of thrust. The fact that they could do that so well, while also carrying pistols in both hands, made it all the more impressive.

The Imperial forces could have taken their transports all the way to the ruins of Tizca, but it was agreed upon by all that it wouldn't be wise to rush into a place that could have all manner of enemies waiting for them. Instead, Shepard and all those who couldn't fly made the trek towards the ruins.

As she walked, Shepard wondered what Prospero looked like before it was scoured. According to the records she'd been able to view, it had always been a desert, but she imagined that the cities were built beautifully, if only to stand out against the sand. She still didn't know what Magnus the Red had done to warrant such a brutal attack, but he was listed among the traitors who had fought against the Emperor in the galaxy-spanning civil war known as the Horus Heresy.

_Maybe I'll ask Revelation the next time I see him, _she thought. _I'll add it to the list of things I want to know._

…

The squad of Skitarii Rangers that had sought out the best approach for the others came back with good news and bad news. The good news was that not only had they, with coordination with the Seraphim, discovered the safest approach into Tizca, they had secured it for everyone else. The bad news was that, at first glance, the mission seemed to be a dud.

Calling Tizca ruins was a disservice to other ruins. Barely anything still stood more than a few meters tall, and if there had been anything left after the initial battle, it had been picked clean by scavengers long ago.

Despite this, everyone felt uneasy as they entered the city; it felt like eyes were watching them, judging their every movement and finding them unworthy.

"Be careful, everyone," Shepard said quietly. "This is a mass grave."

"There is not much to be careful around." Until now, this was the first thing that Lieutenant Artin had said since introducing himself on the _Vehemence_. He was big, even for a Primaris Marine, and carried himself like combat could occur at any moment, even when he was in friendly territory. He wore the lightweight Phobos-pattern power armor that Shepard had seen on Infiltrators and Reivers, and Artin wore the skull-helm of the latter, as well as the long knife and bolt pistol.

Unlike other Necropolis Hawks Shepard had met, Artin didn't seem to have a sense of humor, or want to throw in a cynical comment. Instead, he seemed hyper-focused on the mission at hand, to the point that he was almost surprised when Shepard had tried to talk to him when they'd been introduced.

The only ones who got along with Artin were his battle-brothers. There were two squads of them, including the same Infiltrator squad that Shepard had fought alongside on Vigilus. The other squad had the same armor, but instead of antennae on their backpacks, there was a rotating camera-like appendage. They also wore thin-slitted visors and masks that left the tops of their heads bare, carried a pair of knives each, and instead of a collection of three scopes on their bolters like the Infiltrators, there was a single rectangular scope. These were Incursors, a more close-range variant of Infiltrators.

"We're picking up movement nearby," the Incursor Sergeant reported, before Shepard could capitalize on Artin's sudden talkativeness. "It keeps disappearing and reappearing. It could be teleporting, or utilizing psyker abilities."

"Everyone hear that?" Shepard asked, and noticed that the two Seraphim squads collectively scowled at the idea of facing psychic enemies. "Okay, stay alert, and stay within sight of each other; this was a big city, and I don't want someone getting lost."

Shepard followed her own advice and kept a close eye on Hiral. The kid had been trained well, but this was his first real deployment in the Crusade, and she didn't want him running off in an attempt to prove himself.

Though the group represented some of the best seekers the Imperium had to offer, Tizca was frustratingly reluctant to give up any secrets. Then again, it had been over ten thousand years since the planet was razed, and anything obvious would have been destroyed or stolen since then.

"Let's head for the main pyramid," Shepard decided. "I doubt anything is still there, but it's at the center of the city, and it makes for a good landmark." She laughed softly. "And who knows? We might get lucky."

They carefully marched down the dusty street, wary of passing by any alley that could hide ambushers. It didn't take long for Shepard to put her helmet on and begin sharing information on a closed vox channel. Hiral wore an open-faced helmet, and thus was excluded; this meant that he was surprised and leaned closer to Shepard.

"Your Holiness, I think I saw—"

"Yeah, I know," Shepard whispered calmly. "Whatever it is, it's been following us for at least five minutes."

"Should we confront it?" Hiral asked, trying to keep quiet.

"Not yet." Shepard glanced at a Ranger, who shook his head. "We still don't know if that thing has friends. I don't want to spring a trap until we've got good cover."

Hiral nodded, but Shepard noticed that he kept his finger dangerously close to his flamer's trigger. She hoped that he didn't accidentally set anyone on fire, or himself, for that matter.

"Cover ahead," a Ranger reported. "Fifty-nine-point-three meters. Fallen stone columns, partially collapsed walls."

"Sounds good." Shepard's hand drifted towards _Liberator_. "On my mark, everyone runs for the cover. Seraphim, don't fly until we draw them out, just in case they've got snipers. Incursors, locate any targets hidden behind cover, keep them pinned for the Seraphim. Everyone else will lay down cover fire."

"The target is getting closer," Artin said gruffly.

"Wait… wait…" Shepard calculated how much further they had to go, and made her decision. "Move!"

Everyone burst into a sprint. Hiral stumbled when he was a few seconds away from a collapsed pillar, but an Infiltrator grabbed him by the collar of his armor and gently tossed him into cover. Shepard had barely vaulted behind a chunk of wall when the sound of gunfire ripped through the air, and bullets pinged against the cover.

"Targets in the buildings!" the Incursors' Sergeant shouted, and then raised his weapon. A moment later, a mass-reactive shot relieved an attacker of his head and much of his torso.

"That thing is in the open!" Hiral added.

Shepard spotted a twisting mass of tentacles and claws as it leaped from the roof of a building. "Light it up!"

One squad of Deltic Scorpions was focused on the attackers still taking cover in the ruined buildings, but the other shifted to the Chaos Spawn that was rapidly closing in on their position. Las-beams hissed as they punched into corrupted hide, but its momentum never slowed. When it was close enough, Hiral's flamer roared and bathed the Spawn in burning promethium. That caused it to shriek in pain and anger, and then it was a rampaging Spawn that was also on fire that reached their line.

Shepard didn't hesitate to call on her powers as she hefted _Liberator _in one hand. "Come on, you son of a bitch!"

As if responding to her challenge, the Spawn wheeled to face her. It hissed in pain at Shepard's anti-Chaos powers' proximity, but it didn't pause in its charge. Shepard stepped in to meet it; _Liberator_'s hammer-side smashed into the head-sized eyeball at the center of its chest, causing it to burst in a shower of blood. Enhanced by the golden light that traveled from Shepard to her weapon, the front half of the Spawn was burned black, and it collapsed with a twitch.

Guided by the Incursors, and with their targets pinned down by the Skitarii and Scorpions, the Seraphim had no trouble rocketing up and laying waste to their would-be ambushers. After a few more minutes of battle, the last shots were fired.

"So," Shepard said casually, "any idea who just tried to kill us?"

"Mutants," a Seraphim spat as she kicked a body to ground level. "Abominations to be purged."

Shepard inspected the corpse. If it had ever been human, there was little evidence; it had back-bent legs, blue skin, and a bird-like head with curling horns. Shepard had fought the followers of Tzeentch before, back in the Empire, and recognized the mark on the creature's shoulder.

"They had to have known what they were getting into," Shepard remarked. "There were barely forty of them, and we're not exactly standard troopers."

"Perhaps a delaying attack?" Hiral suggested. "It was only for a few minutes, but maybe they just wanted our attention."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Shepard agreed. "But they should have attacked us sooner. They gave us time to get to cover; if they'd hit us while in the street, we might have taken casualties, and that would have slowed us down."

"Maybe they weren't expecting us."

"Maybe, but we've been here a while. They should have had a plan that involved more than small arms and _that _thing." Shepard jerked her thumb over at the dead Spawn and shook her head. "No, there's more going on here, we just don't know what."

…

Deep below the pyramid, a single figure showed signs of life, despite not being the only one in the room. A small hum from a talisman on his armor made him pause.

"Imperials," he growled, his double-toned voice coming out both soft and rough. "They've burned and pillaged this place so many times. You'd think they'd find something else to destroy." The talisman hummed again. "What were they thinking, attacking such a force? Fools."

Despite the urgency of his situation, he returned to the massive desk and sat down. With a wave of one power-armored hand, a tome with writhing letters flew into his grasp.

"The answer is here, I know it!" He rapidly flipped through the pages, but then tossed the book aside and grabbed another. "Ahriman, what were you hiding?"

…

"High Admiral, we have an incoming arrival at the Mandeville Point!"

Dartan leaned forward in his command throne. "Identify it! Is it Imperial?"

"Negative!" The auspex officer shook his head. "Multiple vessels arriving in-system, all registering as traitor!"

"Bring the fleet around in battle formation," Dartan ordered calmly. He had faced hundreds of battles in his long life, often with far worse odds—as he watched the enemy ships enter into range, he noted that there were only fifty vessels. He easily identified them as Astartes vessels, albeit of ancient design and twisted by the Warp. "Charge all lance batteries, I want to be able to fire as soon as the lead vessels come into range."

"Sir, their trajectories have been calculated," another officer said. "Their current course has them in our range in one hour, but only for six minutes. We'll be able to get off one lance volley, maybe two, and there aren't many ships in the fleet that have our range. We could alter our position to pursue, but it would leave the optimal landing area dangerously exposed."

Dartan had already suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made him scowl. "Damn. Are they going anywhere near Saint Shepard's position?"

"They'll definitely be close enough to launch landing craft."

"Contact the Lord-Marshal and the rest of the war council," he ordered. "It looks like we'll be landing troops after all."

**And that's where we'll be ending today! I know that this chapter was on the shorter side, but that's because I've been having a lot of things going on right now, and trying to stretch this out even longer would mean even more delays. About half of those things include needing my house fixed (because water damage sucks), but there is some good news. See, I've been working on something that I know many of you were waiting patiently for:**

_**Alpha Sanction **_**is now available in physical copies! That's right, my book can be ordered from Amazon in paperback form! Just visit Amazon, look up **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, and you can been one of the first to have my book actually in your hands, complete with that new-book smell! It's still available in eBook format, so that hasn't changed, if you're interested.**

**Now, to address the chapter itself. Shepard's ability to punch holes through the Great Rift may sound amazing, and it is, but those corridors are small, to the point that ships would have to Warp-travel in single file. Could Shepard remove the entire Rift by just traveling nonstop? In theory, yes. However, if you take the sheer enormity of space into account, this would probably take thousands of years, and just saying that Shepard was on a nonstop road trip would be boring. And yeah, Shepard is about to face the Thousand Sons, because who else would she fight on Prospero? Necrons?**

**Something else I want to talk about, and this is more for the tabletop game than the lore. Those Incursors I put in this chapter, and the Infiltrators from a couple chapters ago? Yeah, those exist now, I didn't make them up. They're part of the new Space Marine Codex, and let me tell you right now, that Codex is f***ing **_**amazing**_**. Does it make Space Marines OP? Not necessarily, but they are definitely in the top tier, and the small army of Primaris Marines that were given to me by friends and family suddenly became competitive by complete accident.**

**Also, the new Contrast paints that Games Workshop released make painting a breeze! For the first time in the decade-plus I've been into this game, I'm going to have a (small) painted army on the tabletop!**

**Also-also, because I feel bad for the short chapter, here's a thing.**

Omake

New Codex Inbound

"Brother-Sergeant, the vile xenos are too well-entrenched!" The Intercessor bit back a curse as T'au plasma scorched the paint from his shoulder plate. "Our weapons cannot overcome their defenses!"

The sergeant barely dodged a shot that would have surely blown his head off. "We must fall back, brothers, or risk being overwhelmed."

"Wait!" Another Intercessor pointed up. "Something is coming down from the heavens! It's headed right for us!"

The rest of the squad followed their battle-brother's arm, and watched as a small, fiery object hurtled right towards their position. They tensed, ready to move away, but something deep in their souls told them to wait, and so they did. The object slowed as it descended, until it fell at the speed of a feather. The sergeant reached out and caught it as it came close; the flames dissipated as they touched his gauntlets, revealing a thin book. On its cover were Ultramarines, fighting against an unknown foe. At the bottom of the cover were words that filled the sergeant's hearts with anticipation, dread, and hope.

_Codex: Space Marines_

"Hey!" The sergeant poked his head out from cover, ignoring the shots that hissed past. "HEY! Stupid xenos! Stop firing for a second!"

The gunfire abruptly stopped, and a Fire Warrior stuck his own head above the heretical energy-wall he and his kind were using for cover.

"What do you want?"

The sergeant held the book out. "We're calling a time-out. We just got a new Codex, and we need to know if this battle is about to change."

As if his words had some magic power, the entire battlefield fell silent. Everyone knew what a new Codex meant.

"Okay, sure, we'll take a break." The Fire Warrior shrugged. "Doesn't matter, unless your entire army suddenly has a way to negate our cover advantage."

While the T'au reloaded and talked amongst themselves about how amazing their Greater Good was, the Space Marines gathered around to look at their new Codex.

"By the Throne," one muttered as he read.

"Did all that really get added?" another asked.

"Hey, did Reivers get dropped a point? We could fit them into an army, now!"

"What are these Incursors, and why are they so awesome?"

"In the Emperor's Name, did Eliminators get even better? And they have mini-lascannons!"

"Sweet Terra, they brought Chapter Tactics back! We can be unique!"

The comments continued on like this for some time, while the new Vanguard line of Primaris Marines began to materialize from the shadows. These new battle-brothers were welcomed with open arms, as were the new and improved rules to the entire lineup.

"Okay, aliens!" The Intercessor sergeant moved back to his previous spot. "We're ready, and it's our shooting phase!"

"About time!" The Fire Warrior grumbled, only to yelp when the Crisis Battlesuits next to him exploded. "What the hell was that!? He had cover, so his armor should have—"

"New rules, dumbass!" A Primaris Marine leaned out to give a one-fingered salute. "Eliminators got better, and we have our Devastator Doctrine up!"

"Devastator what-now?"

Across the battlefield, heavy weapons wielded by the Space Marines reaped a heavy toll as their additional AP stat nullified the T'au cover. Badly mauled by the more effective shooting, the T'au response couldn't stop the Space Marines' advance. By the next turn, the infantry was in range to really do some damage.

"At least their regular guns aren't scarier," the Fire Warrior muttered to himself, only for the bolter fusillade to completely punch through their cover. "Okay, what the hell was _that_!?"

"We switched to Tactical Doctrine!" the sergeant called out gleefully. "Now it's our Rapid Fire and Assault weapons that have an additional AP!"

"Oh, come _on_!" The Fire Warrior watched as dozens of his fellows were cut down. "Those bolt rifles were scary enough, now they're AP-minus-two!?"

The T'au fell back to their last defenses in a desperate bid to retreat, but the suddenly-cheaper Reivers were waiting for them with knives drawn.

"At least those knives aren't too scary," the Fire Warrior said, trying to calm himself.

"Think again," the nearest Reiver said as they began their charge. "We now get an additional attack when we charge, and we just activated Assault Doctrine. AP-minus-one knives, motherfucker!"

The T'au could only whimper as dozens of dice were rolled, and the aliens were slaughtered.

…

**I realize that this was not completely accurate to what occurs on the tabletop, but I hope I conveyed the point. That point being 'Space Marines got good'.**

**Anyway, as I mentioned before, my book is now available in physical copies, so if you've been waiting for that, now's your chance! If you want to be even more awesome, please consider supporting me on P-atreon (link in my profile), like the following amazing people:**

**Serious Muffins: Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, The Big What If, MeddlingTiger**

**Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225, Brian McGloughlin**

**Ultra Muffins: Vlarto, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Prospero may be dead, but that doesn't mean her sons will not defend her…**

**All is Muffins…**


	8. Sons

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I'M NO LONGER ALLOWED TO CREATE SUPER-SOLDIERS IN THE STATE OF MINNESOTA. NO, I'M NOT SAYING WHY.**

**Sorry for taking so long with this update. Real life got in the way, as it so often does. To make it up to you, here's Shepard with power armor, about to bring the hurt on some heretics.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 8

Sons

"Your Holiness, I'm receiving a message from the _Vehemence_," a Scion reported. "Heretic vessels have arrived in-system, and have deployed ground forces. They will arrive at Tizca in several hours."

Shepard scowled. "So much for a quick mission. I should have known. All right, what are our forces doing in response?"

"The High Admiral has sent our smaller vessels to harry the enemy fleet until some of the larger ships can get into range. The entire fleet cannot engage, or else our own landing zone will be exposed." The Scion listened to her vox for a moment. "And the Lord-Marshal is landing our ground forces now."

"Well, at least we'll have backup," Shepard said. "Who's joining the party down here?"

"Five regiments of Astra Militarum—three infantry, one armored, one artillery. The Mechanicus, Sororitas and the Necropolis Hawks are preparing for boarding or counter-boarding actions against the enemy fleet, depending on the situation."

Shepard turned to Lieutenant Artin. "Can those forces hold out against the enemy here?"

"It would depend on the enemy's strength," Artin said. "Fortunately, there are plenty of reinforcements to draw on, if necessary."

"Well, I don't want to take chances." Shepard addressed the Scion again. "Ask the High Admiral if he can spare a few squadrons of fighters and bombers. If we can establish air superiority, it'll make our lives a lot easier."

"As you command, Your Holiness."

"As for the rest of us, we still have our mission. There's something inside the pyramid, I just know it, and we have to find it."

Her strike force made the sign of the Aquila, saluted, or just stood at attention. Satisfied, Shepard turned to the pyramid.

"Let's go."

…

Helmin nodded in approval as his soldiers marched off their landers. They lacked the speed of the Sororitas or Astartes, but that was to be expected; regardless, they made good time, and established a perimeter within an hour.

"The Eleventh are out of formation," he noted, and then reached for his vox. "Colonel Klinner, pull your soldiers back one hundred meters."

"_Apologies, sir," _the commanding officer of the Eleventh Vigilant Guard said, her voice raspy from a cut to her throat during the war on Vigilus. _"Correcting now."_

Klinner was as devout as any Vigilus soldier, but the Eleventh had apparently spent a great deal of time working alongside the Mechanicus, and had picked up a few quirks from them. They were as disciplined as the most veteran units, and their accuracy ratings were far above average, but the way they marched with such clockwork precision and the emotionless way they talked to those outside their regiment could be unsettling at times. Still, Helmin had gladly accepted them when Klinner had volunteered her soldiers to be in the first wave.

Shepard had made a point of getting the many different units of her Crusade to work together, and Helmin had followed her example. Every single regiment that made up the first wave came from a different world, and had never worked together before; he hoped that the crucible ahead would forge them into a united force.

Satisfied that his orders were being followed, Helmin leaned back in the command throne of _Iron Judge_, a Baneblade super-heavy tank that had served as his favored steed for over thirty years. His crew had served him ably for just as long, and he sometimes joked that they were more in tune with _Iron Judge_'s machine-spirit than the Mechanicus—though he never said it within earshot of the Tech-Priests.

"Driver, bring us up to the Ten-Twenty-Two's center and hold position."

The Cadian One-Thousand-Twenty-Second Armored was actually a regiment that Helmin had commanded before the Crusade. Though their regiment hadn't been on Cadia when the planet had fallen, and none of the tank crews had been alive at the time, they fought with a ferocity that would have made the dead on their shattered homeworld proud.

Commander Rand, the commanding officer of the regiment, stood ramrod-straight in his Leman Russ tank's cupola, and saluted when Helmin emerged from _Iron Judge_'s hatch. As always, his uniform was perfectly pressed, and his face clean and groomed. "Sir! Glad to have you with us."

Helmin returned the salute, though his easygoing smile never faded. "At ease, Commander. Any problems thus far?"

"Negative, sir." Rand frowned. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Of course, Commander."

"I don't like having our tanks sitting out in the open like this, and it has to be worse for the infantry."

"I'm aware, Commander," Helmin said confidently. "As soon as the last of the supplies are offloaded, we'll head to Tizca and fortify the city as best we can while Saint Shepard completes her task."

"Understood, sir." Rand saluted again. "I apologize for thinking you were making a mistake, sir. I can submit myself for disciplinary action immediately, sir."

"There's no need for that," Helmin assured. "You brought up a valid concern, and I just happened to be prepared for it. Remember, Saint Shepard herself decreed that this Crusade should not be lined with a road made from the bones of martyrs, and I have no intention of sacrificing lives needlessly."

At the mention of their Crusade's namesake, Rand managed to stand even straighter. "I understand, sir."

A short squawk from Helmin's vox informed him that the first wave was now deployed. "Ah, excellent. Commander, I want you to divide your companies to protect our front, rear, and flanks. You'll have infantry support as you go, and our artillery will be protected at the center of our formation."

"Understood, sir." Rand raised an eyebrow. "Permission to join the forward companies, sir?"

"Only if you don't mind if I join you, Commander." Helmin patted _Iron Judge_'s turret fondly. "It's been some time since this old boy has fought the Emperor's enemies, and I'd hate to deny him."

"Happy to have you with us, sir." Rand mirrored the Lord-Marshal and patted the turret of his Leman Russ Executioner, _Cadia's Hate_. It could have been Helmin's imagination, or a trick of Prospero's light, but he thought that the glowing plasma cells burned a little brighter at the prospect of war.

"Very well, then." Helmin ducked back inside _Iron Judge_, sealed the hatch, and activated the battlegroup-wide vox channel. "All regiments, fall into formation and move out!"

…

"_Your Holiness, we may have something."_

Shepard perked up at Artin's voice over the vox. They had been searching around the base of the pyramid for some time, but to everyone's growing frustration, there was nothing to hint at why they were there.

"What did you find?" Shepard asked.

"_It appears to be a small tunnel that leads into the pyramid," _Artin reported. _"My brothers can shift the larger stones to widen the opening."_

"Do it, we're on our way to you." Shepard turned to the Seraphim squad that had been escorting her. "Looks like we have a lead, let's go!"

Channeling her earlier frustration into anger, Shepard activated her wings and flew towards Artin's position. The Seraphim were right behind her, though the power of Shepard's wings put her slightly ahead of the jump pack-wearing women. She arrived several seconds before them, and was marching up to Artin before they even touched down.

"Where's this tunnel?" she asked.

Artin guided her to a small breach at the base of the pyramid. "I believe that someone recently accessed this entrance; the dust was disturbed, and the stone has several scrapes along the edges, suggesting that it was pulled out of place."

Shepard sighed. "That also means that we won't be alone down there. How wide does it look?"

Artin shook his head. "I doubt it was meant to allow entire armies access. It is barely wide enough for me to walk through." He paused. "A previous generation of Astartes would have had less trouble. It would still be a tight fit."

"I guess size isn't everything, huh?" Shepard gently rapped her knuckles against Artin's shoulder plate. "At least I won't have as much trouble. Still, I agree that this tunnel probably wasn't built for an entire strike force. Artin, you and your Incursors will come with me; everyone else will hold this position."

"Your Holiness—" one of the Seraphim tried to protest, but Shepard waved her off.

"Jump packs aren't going to be much use down there," she said, not unkindly. "And with such close quarters, the Space Marines' armor gives them the best chance of surviving whatever's down there."

After a moment, one of the Sisters Superior nodded. "As you command, Your Holiness."

"See if the Lord-Marshal can spare some soldiers to reinforce you when he gets here," Shepard continued. "Oh, and just in case—before anyone comes out of this tunnel, the challenge is 'David'. If the response is anything other than 'Gregor', don't hesitate; just shoot them."

Those Imperials not joining Shepard into the pyramid gripped their weapons a little tighter. They understood that Chaos was not something to take lightly.

Shepard held up _Liberator _as she descended into the dark tunnel; her helmet allowed her to see in the dark, so the activated power field was unnecessary, but having the weapon ready was comforting.

"Anyone see anything?" she asked over a closed vox channel after a few minutes.

"_Negative," _the sergeant replied. If he had been anything but a Space Marine, Shepard would have thought he sounded nervous. _"There isn't anything coming up at all. Damnable sorcery makes everything unfair."_

"Let's see if I can't fix that," Shepard said. She tapped into her power, and a pulse of golden light briefly illuminated the tunnel. Shadowy runes etched into the stone walls screamed as they were burned away, leaving only ashes behind. As the darkness returned, Shepard looked back at the sergeant. "How about now?"

To his credit, the Space Marine barely reacted to Shepard's display. _"I'm getting readings. No signs of enemy movement yet, but at least my instruments are telling me we are in a place that exists now. Many thanks."_

Shepard was glad that her helmet concealed how tired that stunt made her. "My pleasure. I like knowing that where I'm walking actually exists."

It could have been her imagination, but she thought a few of the Necropolis Hawks laughed behind their helmets. The idea that she could amuse such stoic warriors lifted her spirits; it reminded her of her days on the _Normandy_, when she made Grunt and Wrex laugh.

She resisted the urge to physically shake herself out of her nostalgia. Falling into her memories during a mission would get her killed.

"_Movement ahead," _the Incursor sergeant reported, all traces of humor gone from his voice. _"Nine Astartes-sized targets, all within twenty meters of each other. They are in a chamber roughly one hundred meters in diameter, plenty of terrain inside, probable cover."_

"Approach with caution," Shepard ordered. "Don't engage until we have clear line of sight on all targets."

The tunnel opened up to a wide, hexagonal chamber, just as the sergeant said. Where Shepard had expected collapsed columns and piles of dust, there was instead row upon row of sturdy bookshelves, illuminated by blue flame that hovered above oil lamps in the walls. Each bookshelf was filled to bursting with tomes, scrolls, dataslates, and every other form of containing information that Shepard knew of.

At any other time, she would have immediately grabbed the nearest book and become lost in its pages—assuming it didn't have anything to do with Chaos. However, this treasure trove of knowledge was occupied, and guarded.

Eight warriors were at the perimeter of the library, completely immobile. They reminded Shepard of the Iron Warriors, but only in that both of them were affected by Chaos. These wore blur armor that was chased with gold, as were the bolters they held in their gauntlets. Their helms were ornately decorated, as were their tabards. Shepard recognized the swirling symbol they all wore—the sign of Tzeentch.

That symbol decorated the golden staff held by the figure at the far end of the room. He also wore blue and gold armor, though he had a flowing white cape that ended with golden tassels. His helmet had three curving horns, and tiny bolts of lightning crackled in the space between them. Between that display, and the staff, Shepard assumed that he was like the Chaos Sorcerers she'd fought back home, only on the level of a Space Marine.

_Fantastic, _she thought dryly. Even with her new powers, she found herself missing Spellmaw, her old shield; it would have protected her against any magic the sorcerer threw at her. _Unless psychic powers work differently from magic, then I'd be screwed._

With a few hand-signals shared between them, Shepard and the Necropolis Hawks spread out. Shepard darted from one bookshelf to another, doing her best to stay out of sight. The Primaris Marines did the same, though as scions of the Raven Guard Legion, their gift of stealth was such that Shepard almost didn't notice Artin, even when he was right next to her.

"You can come out, little one," the sorcerer rasped, not looking up from the book he was reading. "I heard your footsteps some time ago. You are not as quiet as you believe."

Artin gripped his weapons tightly, but Shepard shook her head; she would buy time for him to move to a better position. Reluctantly, the lieutenant nodded and withdrew, while Shepard stepped into the open.

"All right, I'm here," she said. "Do you want to talk? Because it's kind of rude to read during a conversation."

The sorcerer chuckled and gently turned the page. "Perhaps it is, but I am more than capable of doing two things at once. Now, who are you, and why are you here?"

Shepard casually rolled her shoulders. "You can call me Saint Shepard. I know better than to give my full name to sorcerers. And I'm not about to tell my life's story to someone I just met."

"Clever. With your full name, I could have snuffed out your soul in a heartbeat." Despite his words, the sorcerer didn't seem too upset. "Shepard… I have heard that name, whispered in fear from the neverborn. It is rare that the denizens of the Empyrean recoil from a mortal; how intriguing."

"Nice to know I'm making waves." Shepard put aside the fact that Daemons were apparently afraid of her now. It would be another question for Revelation. "I gave you my name, but you haven't returned the favor."

"You may call me Adjo Gahiji." Finally, the sorcerer stood up, though not before carefully closing his book. "If the pleasantries are finished, I would ask that you leave this place. This is my home, and you have no right to be in this sacred place."

Shepard made a show of looking at the cracked stone of the ceiling. "This place could use some fixing-up after ten thousand years."

Gahiji's grip tightened on his staff, and it could have been Shepard's imagination, but it looked like the other Chaos Marines did the same with their weapons.

"Do not mock me, Imperial," Gahiji hissed. "The Wolves came, under the Corpse-Emperor's orders, and burned the greatest trove of knowledge in the galaxy! Their ignorance doomed my Legion, and all of humanity!"

Shepard lowered her stance and brought up _Liberator_. "And you dabbled in powers that enslaved your soul. I guess everyone is at fault, huh?"

Gahiji apparently had tired of talking, because he only lowered his staff at her. A crackling bolt of purple energy lanced toward her; Shepard had no plan to see what happened if she tried matching his power with her own, so she twisted out of the way instead.

"Destroy her!" Gahiji commanded, and the Astartes by the walls sprang into action. Where once they had been unmoving, almost like statues, they fought with ruthless efficiency. Shepard desperately jumped behind a bookshelf, only for it to explode into kindling.

A moment later, the Necropolis Hawks attacked. The Incursors' weapons lacked the sorcerous enhancements of the Rubric Marines' bolts, but they were just as efficient. Some bolts exploded harmlessly against some kind of energy shield, but others got through. Instead of blood and meat bursting from the ruptured armor, there was just a gasp of air, and a few handfuls of dust.

The Thousand Sons weren't about to let their Imperial counterparts' attack go unanswered, and one Hawk was blown in half by dozens of bolts. Two more were badly injured, though they continued to fight. Artin also went down, his left arm disintegrated at the elbow by Gahiji's sorcery. The sorcerer raised his glowing staff over the fallen lieutenant.

Upon reflection, Shepard had no idea why she had done what she did. Perhaps it was subconsciously knowing that her bolt pistol wouldn't have the power to stop Gahiji in time, or perhaps it was the guidance of the Emperor. Whatever the reason, she drew back _Liberator_, judged the correct angle, and hurled it with all her strength.

Despite leaving her hand, the war-pick was still coated in her golden energy, and connected to her by a thin tether of light, as it flew through the air, spun end over end, before connecting hammer-side-first with the sorcerer's chest. There was a thunderous crack as his breastplate shattered, and Chaos-tainted flesh was exposed to its greatest weakness. Gahiji screamed as he fell onto his back, but even in his agony, he watched in amazement as _Liberator_ stopped before hitting the ground, and flew back into Shepard's waiting hand. For a moment, even the Rubric Marines halted their attack as they processed this unforeseen development.

"Oh, baby," Shepard said, her grin evident through her voice, "you guys are in _serious _trouble."

"Kill her!" Gahiji screamed.

The remaining Rubric Marines opened fire, but Shepard was already moving. One unliving warrior was blasted back by a beam of golden light, while another was split down the middle by _Liberator_'s blade. The others were gunned down by the surviving Primaris Marines, leaving only Gahiji; his transhuman physiology was only barely keeping him alive, but he was able to glare hatefully at the Living Saint.

"You…" he hissed. "You've ruined _everything_! I would have cured my brothers of their curse, reversed the Rubric, and restored my Legion to its former glory!"

Shepard stood over him; in a moment of arrogance, she almost considered removing her helmet, just so she could give him the unimpressed look he deserved. "Lots of people do stupid things for reasons that are noble only to them. The fact that I can look back on the cost of _my _actions and care about the people who died for me tells me that _I_, at least, still have my humanity. I guess you lost that when you bent over backwards for your fucking gods." She aimed one palm at his head. "When you see them, tell them that when I'm done here, I'm coming for them."

Before Gahiji could speak, a beam of golden light lanced through his helm, killing him instantly. The smoke hadn't finished rising from his ruined head, and Shepard was helping Artin to his feet.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, looking worriedly at what was left of his arm.

Artin glanced down. "I worry that my flesh has been corrupted. Perhaps it would be better if I were given the Emperor's Peace, rather than bring contamination to my brothers."

"Hold that thought." Shepard placed her hand on the stump—which she noticed had already stopped bleeding—and sent a pulse of her power through the wound. She stepped back and nodded. "If there was any corruption, I'm pretty sure I purified it."

Artin wore his helm, but Shepard would have bet money that his jaw had dropped. "How can you be sure?"

"Hey, I purified a whole system, _and _I made a stable passageway through the Rift." Shepard kept her tone light, even teasing. "I think I can handle one injured Space Marine." She patted him on his uninjured arm. "Take care of your wounded, Lieutenant. I need to see why I had to come here."

Artin staggered over to what was left of the Incursor squad, leaving Shepard to root through the remains of the library. Much of it had been destroyed in the fight, but a few bookshelves had survived more-or-less intact; Shepard started with those, but nothing caught her attention as anything more than theories on how the Warp worked. Judging by how old many of the texts were, Shepard guessed that they had been written by Magnus the Red, before he fell to Chaos.

After a while, Shepard started to feel discouraged, but something bumped against her foot. It was half-buried by smoldering books and cracked dataslates, and it took Shepard a moment to dig the item free.

It was a jar, nearly the size of a Space Marine's fist, and inside it was a single black feather. Shepard didn't need anyone to tell her that it wasn't a normal feather—just the fact that it was among a collection of esoteric knowledge was a clue. However, when she blinked, the feather vanished from her sight for just an instant. Then it was back inside the jar, as if it never left.

Something nudged at her mind; it almost felt like a tug, and all her attention became focused on the feather. Her golden aura returned, reaching through the glass jar and onto the feather; as if by its own accord, the tip of the feather suddenly turned like the needle of a compass… only it turned straight up.

"Okay, that's… weird," Shepard said, and then frowned. "Are you telling me that _this _is why I'm here!? Oh, come _on_!" She shook her head, and then went back to the Necropolis Hawks. "I think we need to leave, now."

Artin nodded. "Agreed. We just received word that heretic forces are on their way to the city."

"All right, we'll head to Helmin and get the wounded airlifted to safety." She gave him a look, though it was wasted behind her helmet. "That includes you."

Artin looked down at what remained of his arm. "I understand. I am sure Lord Zandtus will send reinforcements; the Thousand Sons are the direst of traitors, and it would be our honor to help send them to their graves."

Shepard chuckled. "I'm not going to say no to more Space Marines helping out. For now, though, let's get out of this tomb."

The group tried to speed up their progress, but they were slowed by their wounded, and because Artin requested—and Shepard agreed—that they take the dead Hawks with them. One of the more badly injured had died from his wounds, and it required two of the living to carry each dead.

"Just a second," Shepard ordered as they reached the entrance. "Gregor!"

"David!" came the reply a moment later, and Shepard heard the sound of many weapons being lowered.

"Thanks for not shooting us," Shepard said cheerfully; her helmet's autosenses immediately shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. "Did we miss anything?"

The Sister Superior of one of the Seraphim squads shook her head. "No, Your Holiness, though we received word that a battlegroup is on its way to reinforce our position, and that the enemy is not far behind them."

"I don't suppose we could get picked up and be on our way before then?"

"It seems that the void is contested between our fleet and that of the heretics. Attempting to withdraw now would be…" she trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"Suicide, I'm guessing?" Shepard sighed. "Just once, I'd like a mission like this to be simple. 'Go to the planet, pick up the package, go home'. Is that too much to ask?"

"We are tempered by our struggles," the Sister Superior quoted mildly. "They make us stronger."

"I know, I know." Shepard took a deep breath. "I just like to complain once in a while." She took another moment to compose herself. "All right, let's move out and try to meet up with Helmin. I'd like to get to the battle _before _it starts, for once."

…

It seemed that the universe took a small amount of pity on Shepard, because she got her wish. The five regiments were still building a field camp at the outskirts of the city when Shepard and her strike force arrived.

While she had known, intellectually, that so many people had signed on with the Crusade, it was another matter to actually see even a small percentage of them together like this. Tens of thousands of soldiers walked, marched or ran through the camp, passing messages, giving orders, or helping to fortify their position. Regimental priests chanted hymns or said prayers to kneeling platoons, while Enginseers blessed lasguns or performed maintenance on equipment. Hundreds of tanks rumbled into place, kicking up clouds of dust as they moved. Artillery pieces clanked and rattled as they adjusted their barrels to create optimal killzones.

At the center of the confusion was _Iron Judge_. The Baneblade was the largest land-based military vehicle that Shepard had ever seen, even larger than the Tomkahs of the Krogan. Standing on the chassis, hand resting on the turret, was Helmin, who occasionally barked orders to vox-officers. The Lord-Marshal smiled when he saw Shepard.

"Ah, Your Holiness!" He hopped down from the Baneblade with practiced ease. "It is good to see you with us on the field of battle! Did you succeed in your task?"

Shepard held up the jar with the feather. "I think so, but for the life of me, I still don't know why we needed it."

"I'm sure that the Emperor's plan will be laid out for you in time," Helmin said confidently. "For now, we should deal with the approaching foe."

"Agreed. Do we have a grasp of enemy numbers and disposition?"

Helmin nodded. "It's being led by hordes of mutant cultists, followed by transports, likely filled with heretic Astartes. Our scouts also reported seeing unholy daemon engines, both on the ground and in the air. If our estimates are correct, there are nearly five hundred Chaos Marines, and about a hundred times that many cultists."

Shepard glanced at the Imperials all around her. "We're outnumbered two-to-one?"

"Indeed, and we have little chance of reinforcement at this time." Helmin's smile became a little forced. "Our fleet is likely engaged in battle by now, including the Necropolis Hawks and the Sororitas."

"So much for reinforcements," Shepard muttered, then hardened her resolve. "Then we just hold our position, and make the enemy pay for every meter."

"An excellent decision, Your Holiness. I've already ordered our infantry to begin fortifications; they will have both armored and artillery support." He eyed her speculatively. "They might also take heart if a Living Saint were to inspire them."

Shepard smiled, and if there was bitterness there, she hid it well. "Oh, don't worry, I've got a plan for that."

"You do?"

"Just watch." Shepard summoned her wings and flew through the air, catching the attention of hundreds of soldiers as she landed in front of the half-dug trench line. After making sure her secondary vox in her gorget was functioning, she removed her helmet and began to speak.

"Soldiers of the Imperium!" She put on her most confident smile, the kind that had convinced soldiers in two other universes to follow her into hell. "I have recovered what the Emperor sent me to find." She waited until the cheers died down before continuing. "That, however, was the easy part. Now, we face traitors from the Imperium's darkest hour. They would deny the Emperor His prize, and they would deny the destiny that He has set out for us! Will you allow the mutants and heretics out there to stop us?"

Thousands of voices rose up as one. "NO!"

"Then it is time for our Crusade to truly begin. Here, on this world, the blasted remains of a traitor's home, we make our stand! Remember that every enemy you kill is one less that threatens the soldier next to you. Every moment you hold out is another moment the fleet has to send reinforcements! The enemy will throw everything they have at us, but they will fail, and I will tell you why!"

Shepard glowed so bright that it was hard to see her, but every soldier that laid eyes upon her would later swear that they could feel her gaze upon them.

"They fight for personal glory, or for a god that doesn't care about their fate. We fight for each other! We fight so that we can still laugh with our friends tomorrow, so that we can continue to protect the Imperium another day! So, fight! Fight with everything you have, and by the Emperor, I will do the same for you!"

Lasguns were raised in salute, while thousands of voices roared in support. Shepard grinned fiercely, the Emperor's rage and her own adrenaline creating a cocktail of emotions within her. She raised _Liberator _over her head, and then turned to face the incoming enemy.

"Now, let's send these bastards back to hell!" She glanced back at Helmin, who looked ready to leap from his tank to charge by himself, but nodded at her unspoken question. "Artillery! Fire when ready!"

And the guns began to sing.

**I've been watching Lord of the Rings too much (blasphemy to even suggest that it's possible, I know), and I wanted to write an epic pre-battle speech for Shepard. Don't expect her to do this for every battle, but this is her first one as leader of the Crusade, so she had to make it count. And she might not believe in the Emperor's divinity—she has yet to drink the Imperium's Kool-Aid—but she's been doing this kind of job long enough to know what to say to inspire.**

**Also, that bit with Shepard throwing **_**Liberator**_**, and then coming back to her hand? Yes, I was inspired by Thor, but more by Stormbreaker, and less by the magic mallet. Rule of cool applies here.**

**For those of you who don't know what the feather means, I'm not going to spoil anything, but it involves my favorite Primarch.**

**Anyway, I want to thank those of you who have bought my book, but for those of you who haven't, and want to read a completed story, I would suggest you look up **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb, on Amazon. It is both an eBook and trade paperback, so there's that. Remember, every sale helps keep me from being thrown out on the street!**

**Another way you can help is to donate on P-atreon. If every person who read my stories donated at the minimum tier, I'd be pretty much set, and I'd be able to write a chapter every week, instead of trying to get a few hours once in a while, because I'm exhausted after hunting for jobs and advertising stuff.**

**I'd like to thank my awesome patrons now:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, CowardlyBravette, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, The Big What If, Red Bard**

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**Next Chapter: Shepard has to hold out, while the battle in space heats up…**

**Our Muffins are sharp, and we are closer than you think.**


	9. Beacon

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. SOME ORKS JUST NICKED MY SHIP, ANYONE WILLING TO SPOT ME SOME CASH TO BUY A NEW ONE?**

**Note to self: when facing a horde of mutant bird-people (Tzaangors), try throwing some breadcrumbs or something in their path, see what happens.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 9

Beacon

The _Vehemence _shuddered as her lance batteries unleashed their fury. On the tactical hololith, Dartan watched with some satisfaction as a smaller Thousand Sons vessel, a strike cruiser, was struck amidships. That ship's void shields had been stripped by a concentrated volley from other elements of the fleet, which meant that the lance strikes inflicted catastrophic damage. Some of the striker cruiser's secondary weapons continued to fire, but most of the ship was dead.

It was the first true casualty either fleet had suffered so far. Both sides had tried harassing the other with squadrons of escort vessels and fighters, but it was only now that Dartan committed any real strength.

"We've shown you our teeth," he muttered, imagining a conversation with his counterpart among the Thousand Sons. "How will you respond?"

As if hearing his words, two larger Thousand Sons vessels—so twisted by the Warp that Dartan couldn't be sure what they used to be—turned with the lumbering grace so common among Astartes vessels. He didn't need his strategic cogitators to figure out where they were heading.

"Have the four escort squadrons on our left wing intercept those heavy assets," he ordered. "And make sure those transports move further away from the battle. This Crusade won't go very far if we lose our ground forces now."

"High Admiral, we're receiving a message from the _Black Necropolis_," the secondary vox-operator reported.

Dartan was intrigued; until now, the Necropolis Hawks' battle barge had maintained vox silence, though it had followed his orders and kept to a defensive stance.

"Audio?"

"Negative, it is just a typed message."

"Read it."

"Yes, sir. It reads as such: 'The enemy has deployed strike craft against the right wing. Our interceptors can catch them, but they must go now'."

Dartan frowned; there was nothing on the hololith, but the Hawks' battle barge was new, and enhanced with Belisarius Cawl's genius. It was possible that they had been able to detect what his ship could not.

"Did they provide more accurate coordinates?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then deploy necessary forces. We can't have our formations thrown into disarray by fighters the rest of the fleet can't see." He turned his attention back to the two heavy ships heading towards the Imperial fleet. "Target our lance batteries against the closer enemy ship, and send a message to the Mechanicus. Ask them if they want to get some target practice in."

Dartan leaned back in his command throne, his eyes narrowed at the holographic map of his battlefield. Again, he imagined speaking to his counterpart from across a table. "You have more experience than me, I will grant you, and your sorcery gives you an advantage. But you are impatient, and are attacking piecemeal. You underestimate my allies, and put your more powerful ships at risk. If you have a plan, I cannot comprehend it…"

An idea came to him, and he smirked with the confidence of a predator who was about to spring its ambush. "Unless you are scared. Perhaps Saint Shepard found something on the surface… something you cannot let her have. You are merely buying time, aren't you? You need to keep me from landing more ground forces, while your own try to overrun what forces we have on the surface. Whatever she had found must have made you panic." His smile turned to a full grin. "If that is the case, I have even more reason to stop you." He raised his voice to address the entire bridge. "Order all combat elements to advance and fire when in optimal range! Show these curs the fury of the Emperor!"

…

In the ruins of Tizca, Shepard watched as Basilisk artillery platforms rained death on the distant forces of the Thousand Sons. Since the artillery was still at maximum range, it was difficult to see how effective the bombardment was, but she'd learned back in the Empire that any reduction of a Chaos army's forces was worth it, especially if there was no risk to her own side.

Still, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the ostentatious regiment, the Fiftieth Hecheron Artillery. From what Helmin had told her, Hecheron was a wealthy planet, whose noble families only acted as officers or vehicle crews when they served in the Militarum. The higher up they were in the nobility, the more important the vehicles they could serve in; those in the artillery were somewhere in the middle of the pecking order. What bothered her was that the uniforms and the artillery pieces were colored a royal purple, and edged with gold. The impracticality drove Shepard up the wall, but she couldn't deny that the Hecheron crews took pride in their work, only firing when they were sure they could land a hit.

It also bothered her that the mainstay artillery piece of the Imperium, the Basilisk, was in many ways only as advanced as some early twentieth-century weapons of Earth. The shells seemed a little more powerful, and the guns were a little more accurate, but she was sure she'd created weapons for the Empire nearly as advanced. The technological regression and stagnation was galling to her inner engineer, but she knew that attempting to change anything would earn her the enmity of the Mechanicus, and she needed to keep as many allies as she could. She would just have to work with what she had available.

"Ah, I do love that sound so." Shepard glanced at the Fiftieth's commander, Duchess-Colonel Riona. She was a beautiful woman, with flawless tanned skin and lustrous black hair that went down to her back and was tied in a braid. Juvenat treatments made her age uncertain, but Shepard guessed that she was still a few decades older than the other woman.

"The sound of explosions destroying our enemies?" Shepard asked. "Because I'd agree with that."

"That as well," Riona said offhandedly, "but I was speaking of the rhythm the crews make as they load, adjust, and fire." She sighed, and her lips curved up in a tiny smile as she wiped a speck of dust off her officer's cap. "Were we not in a battle, I could almost fall asleep to such a thing."

Though the woman's attitude bordered on arrogance, Shepard found her a little endearing. It almost reminded her of Miranda, once the Ice Queen had opened up after Shepard rescued her sister.

"Enjoy it while you can," Shepard advised. "Things are going to get messy soon."

"Oh, I fully intend to, Your Holiness." After placing her cap back on her head, Riona twirled her gold-topped cane like a baton. "We'll pound the foe with the Wyverns as soon as they get too close. I daresay that that will help the lads on the front line."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it." Shepard offered her a salute. "Speaking of the front, I'm going to check on the trenches. Keep up the good work."

"Please, Your Holiness." Riona tried to sound offended, but she couldn't keep a smile off her face. "My regiment does not do 'good' work; at worst, we are exemplary."

Shepard laughed, and then left her to her work. As she passed, officers knelt, bowed, or made the sign of the Aquila; a few of the priests actually prostrated. Thankfully, the force she'd initially brought with her had already become comfortable enough in her presence to only salute or briefly bow at the waist.

"Good to see you again, Your Holiness," Hiral said. "I hope you can still hear after standing next to those cannons."

Shepard rapped her knuckles against her helmet. "Autosenses are a wonderful thing. I think the Duchess-Colonel had earplugs; damn good ones, if that's the case. Anyway, how are things here? Where's Artin?"

"Lieutenant Artin is still in the field strategium," Hiral reported. "He decided that his injury prevented him from being completely effective in battle, so he decided to provide strategic support."

Shepard nodded at the remaining Necropolis Hawks; half of the Incursors were either dead or too injured to fight, so there were only fifteen Primaris Marines left. Fortunately, the rest of the force was still fresh.

"We'll stay in reserve, for now," Shepard decided. "I don't want us wasting our strength when we don't have to, and Helmin seems to have things in hand."

Indeed, despite being outnumbered and only minutes away from a pitched battle, the Lord-Marshal was remarkably composed. His upper body stuck out of the hatch of his massive tank—the Baneblade was so big that Shepard still impressed—as he gave orders. He could have remained completely inside, but like Shepard, he understood the value of a leader who could be seen. As if sensing Shepard's eyes on him, Helmin turned and offered her a nod and a smile before going back to work.

Shepard led her force further up the line, to where the three infantry regiments were hastily finishing the trench network and throwing up sandbags. At the center, the Eleventh Vigilant Guard was the most composed, but they had more experience fighting the forces of Chaos than the other two regiments.

The other two regiments were mostly untested, and it was the one at the right flank that Shepard visited first. The Seventy-Seventh Duranian Rangers were a light infantry regiment, consisting almost entirely of lasgun-armed guardsmen. They wore black armor over grey fatigues, a far cry from the Hecheron soldiers; their only decoration was their regiment's number on their right shoulder, and their squad number on their left. While they lacked much in the way of heavier weapons, they made up for it with accuracy drills that went far beyond the standard requirements. According to a Scion that had served alongside a Duranian regiment before, even the greenest of their soldiers could put a las-round between a target's eyes more often than not.

Shepard couldn't help but approve of an entire regiment of marksmen, and made a point of mentioning their regiments' reputation when she passed by. The soldiers in the trenches who heard her puffed up with pride. Between her rousing speech before, and her actions now, she hoped that the young soldiers would keep their nerve.

The only problem Shepard had with the Duranians was their commanding officer, Colonel Borran. He was beyond overconfident, and seemed to think that the enemy army would break after a single volley from his regiment.

"Once these cowards see the might of _my _soldiers, they'll turn tail and run," he boasted. He was a big man, nearly a head taller than Shepard, and waved his arms excitedly as he spoke. "Of course, once the Lord-Marshal sees my genius and my valor, he'll be sure to include me in your war council." His eyes glittered with ambition. "Perhaps he will even name me as his successor."

_Does he even realize I'm still here? _Shepard was amazed that such naked ambition hadn't been tempered. _And did he just plan for Helmin's death?_

Behind the colonel, Shepard could see a much smaller man shaking his head in dismay. Captain Losvor had been the one to actually give Shepard a detailed report on the regiment's readiness. She could tell that the young man—a few years younger than her grandson's age, if she guessed right—was more comfortable with strategy than actual combat, and was picking up his commander's slack.

"Just be ready to do your duty, Colonel," Shepard said, her voice so full of iron that even Borran stopped his rambling. "I'd hate to find out that you placed personal glory over the mission's success."

"Yes, yes, of course." Behind Shepard, Hiral bristled when Borran waved her off in obvious dismissal. "I'll be sure to give the foe a good kick before they flee."

Shepard continued on her way, annoyed, but unable to do anything unless Borran actually crossed a line. She supposed she did have the authority to remove him from his position, but she refused to do so without a valid reason beyond the fact that he was infuriating.

Hiral, however, had nothing to stop him from speaking. "What an ass."

"Agreed."

"And I didn't like the way he was looking at you, or the Sororitas. It was disrespectful."

To Shepard's pleasant surprise, one of the Seraphim gave the young man an appreciative nod; all of the women had noticed Borran's wandering eyes.

"See, ladies, this is one more reason why I keep Hiral around." Shepard ruffled his hair. "He's disciplined, he burns heretics, _and _he's a gentleman! Any girl would be lucky to have him."

More than a few members of the force laughed at Hiral's expense; for his part, the young man blushed heavily and tried to stare at the ground.

The final element of the ground forces was smelled long before Shepard reached them. The Forty-Eighth Miasman Redcowls stank to high heaven, thanks to the unique promethium that fueled their flamers—and they had a lot of flamers. Each squad had at least two, and the special weapons squads were armed exclusively with such weapons. They wore armor that reminded Shepard of industrial workers' outfits, and the red hooded coats that gave them half their name over that. The outfits they wore, and their full-face masks, prevented Shepard from discerning gender, but each of them stood at attention as she approached.

Commander Sren was an uncompromising figure in the regiment, with carapace armor mixing oddly with a red coat. One hand held a chainsword with a yellow outer casing, while a silver bionic hand held a bolt pistol. Green lenses gazed out at the men and women working in the trenches, but then turned to face Shepard.

"Your Holiness," Sren said, and the deep voice suggested it was male. "It is an honor to meet you in person."

"Commander." Shepard nodded, and did her best not to react to the smell. She had gone with her helmet on her belt; she knew her face could reassure the soldiers, but she could have gone without the stench. "How are the troops?"

"As prepared as they can be, given the circumstances," Sren reported. "I'm hoping that we'll deal with their light infantry—our flamers will make short work of them."

"Glad to hear it. Don't be shy about calling in artillery support as needed, though."

"Affirmative, Your Holiness." Sren snapped off a quick salute, and then went back to observing his soldiers.

With her final inspection done—though she'd missed Commander Rand; the man was busy keeping his tank squadrons adequately dispersed, and couldn't afford to be distracted—Shepard was about to head to the rear of the Eleventh's ranks, when a shout rang out.

"Incoming! Take cover!"

A second later, a metal-skinned monster shrieked as it flew overhead. The Heldrake, shaped like some daemonic bat or flying reptile, spat out a torrent of corrupted flame that cooked a squad of Guardsmen alive. The daemon engine looped around to do it again, ignoring the lasfire that didn't even scratch its paint, but by then, Shepard was in the air to meet it.

"Come on, ugly!" Shepard taunted as she flew through the sky. She fired a beam of energy from one hand, while readying _Liberator _in the other.

The Heldrake screeched as the beam clipped its flank, but continued its attack. Its mouth opened to unleash its flame again, only for it to be met and swept aside by Shepard's power. The Daemon possessing the ancient frame realized just what Shepard was, and tried to flee, but it had killed soldiers under Shepard's command. She was so, so tired of that happening, and she wasn't about to let them go unavenged. With a burst of speed that should have killed her without her helmet on, she caught up to the Heldrake and gripped one wing; her golden aura made the metal sizzle and burn, and the Heldrake screamed in pain.

"You kill mine, I kill yours!" Shepared hefted _Liberator _and aimed for the base of the wing.

The bladed half of the weapon punched deep into the flesh-mechanisms of the wing. With a savage tug, Shepard tore the entire limb from the abomination, and jumped clear as it spiraled down to the ground, where it exploded.

_Holy shit, _Shepard thought as she landed in front of the astounded Eleventh. _I knew my power had some kick, but I just killed a Daemon fighter craft. Just how strong did the Emperor make me?_

"All right, everyone keep in cover!" She shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of artillery being fired at the rapidly-approaching enemy. "That was just the preview to the main event!"

Shrieks and hisses could now be heard as the birdlike Tzaangors came into view. There were tens of thousands of the mutants, all swinging bladed weapons or raising pistols over their heads. The artillery had thinned them out, but their god's foul sorcery protected a good number from certain death.

Shepard was reminded of the last time a Chaos horde had charged through artillery. It had been at the battle of Altdorf, when Archaon had attacked, and when Gregor—

She shook her head; she couldn't get lost in grief now. She focused instead on the battle in front of her.

"Fire when in range!" she ordered, once she'd put her helmet back on and used her vox. "Don't let them get in close!"

The tanks and quad-barreled Wyvern artillery pieces fired first. Thousands of rounds, shells, and bolts of plasma smashed into the approaching Tzaangors, but they continued their charge. Then the heavy weapons teams fired, followed by the waves of ruby-red lasgun fire. Thousands of Tzaangors were cut down with each volley.

Unfortunately, the problem wasn't the horde of mutants, but their masters, which were screened by the diminished mob. There weren't many living Thousand Sons among them—most of them were Rubrics—and the sorcerers who commanded the army were more than willing to sacrifice their disposable pawns.

There was a deafening bang, and a massive shell exploded in the midst of the Tzaangors, obliterating dozens; Helmin's Baneblade rumbled forward, while its many smaller guns unleashed hell. When Shepard added beams of golden energy to the barrage that turned the mutants to ash, it became the final straw. A portion of the horde stopped, turned, and ran; after thousands of them were slaughtered, and then faced with an enemy who obliterate them with a flash of light, the Tzaangors had had enough.

Many of the Guardsmen cheered, even as they fired into the disorganized mass of monsters. The miserable Redcowls were particularly pleased when a large group of Tzaangors that hadn't fled charged straight into their flamers. Blue skin was charred black, and the smell of burned flesh would have made Shepard gag, had she not been busy.

"Helmin, you know this can't be that easy, right?" she asked over the vox.

"_Indeed, Your Holiness," _he replied. _"I would not be surprised if this was a massive distraction, but there are many places the enemy could try to strike."_

"The artillery," Shepard said with conviction. "It's been giving the enemy a hard time since the beginning."

"_I have several tank squadrons near enough to reinforce the Fiftieth," _Helmin said. _"And I will have infantry platoons begin heading their way as well."_

"Do it, but I'm taking my strike force now. Send who you can to back us up." Shepard flew over to her small force. "Follow me, people! The enemy might be going after our big guns!"

Hiral raised his flamer in salute. "We're with you to the end, Saint Shepard!"

Shepard's odd collection of Sororitas, Scions, Skitarii and Astartes dashed or flew towards the Fiftieth's position, but they heard the gunfire and screams before they got there. Of the regiment's personnel, the first that Shepard found still alive was Riona, but she was in terrible shape. Her purple uniform was stained with her own blood, mostly from the gash on her side, and she was being lifted up by the hair by a Thousand Son. Unlike those she had fought before, this one wore even larger armor that sloped over and around his helmet. On his belt was a twin-barreled combi-bolter, while his other hand readied a curved power sword to run Riona through.

Despite her injury, Riona continued to struggle. She raised her ornate laspistol and fired into the Terminator's helmet, but it hardly scratched the paint. Just as the Rubric was about to stab, Shepard hurled _Liberator _with all her might, the bladed part shearing off the arm that held Riona up. As soon as she fell to the ground, the Skitarii Rangers riddled the Terminator with shots; with its power disrupted by Shepard's, the empty suit of armor was torn apart.

Shepard slid over to the Duchess-Colonel, even as _Liberator _returned to her hand. She knelt down to cradle the other woman with her free arm. "Riona, can you hear me?"

Though she was in terrible pain, Riona managed a smile. "I can hear you, Your Holiness. I'll be—ah!" She held her hand against her wound. "I'll live, but my soldiers…"

"We'll save them," Shepard promised. The sound of rumbling treads told her that Commander Brand's tanks were moving to engage the enemy, and she was determined to join them. "I want two men to get her to safety; everyone else is with me!"

_This can't be it, _she thought to herself as the rest of her force headed towards the fighting. _Yeah, taking out our artillery is smart, but our forces are close enough to each other that it wouldn't be too hard to reinforce this position, unless… shit!_

"Helmin, come in!" she shouted into her vox.

"_I'm here, Your Holiness," _Helmin replied immediately. There was no joviality in his tone; he had picked up on the seriousness in hers.

"Have all rear platoons change positions to prepare for attacks from behind! It's not just the artillery!"

"_Throne of Terra, of course!" _Thankfully, Helmin was more than intelligent enough to see what she was talking about. He was so focused on issuing orders that he left open his channel to her. _"All infantry regiments, have rear platoons reverse orientation! Prepare for incoming teleportation assault!"_

The order came just in time; within a minute, Shepard saw flashes of light off in the distance, followed by gunfire and screaming. She knew that many Guardsmen would be killed, regardless of how quickly they reacted, but with thousands of soldiers dug in to face small teams of Terminators, it would become a hard fight, rather than a slaughter. It bothered her that any soldier under her command would die, but she knew that giving them a fighting chance was better than nothing.

_Speaking of fighting chances, _she thought as more Terminators stepped through the burning wreckage of a Basilisk, _it's time to get back to it._

Rather than throw _Liberator_, Shepard fired bursts of light from her hands; empowered by the blackstone on her gauntlets, two Terminators were blasted to ash. Her forces opened fire, but the combined sorcery and technology of the Thousand Sons kept most of the empty suits intact. The Terminators replied with an incredible barrage of fire, ensorcelled bolts blasting apart the Skitarii and several Scions in moments. A squad of Seraphim rocketed in close, firing as they moved, but three of them were shot out of the sky; two more were cut down by power swords, and another lost her head to a beam of sorcery.

Shepard's eyes narrowed as she identified the sorcerer in question; his armor was more ornate than the other Terminators, with horns and a curved beak added to his helm. He carried a long staff in one hand, while his other crackled with power. Shepard fired more beams of light at him; he tried to block with a barrier, but faced with a power that destroyed the source of his own, it did little good. His left arm was burned away, followed by both of his legs.

With her wings outstretched, Shepard soared up into the air and rained down light on the Thousand Sons. Enhanced by her growing rage, each Terminator was blasted apart, or so heavily damaged that her remaining soldiers could destroy them. Soon, only the sorcerer remained, trying to pull back with his remaining arm.

Shepard landed next to him, and pinned him to the ground with one foot. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll put you out of your misery."

The sorcerer glared at her through the cracked lenses of his helm. "Servant of the False Emperor… I'll tell you nothing!"

Shepard raised _Liberator_. "Oh, well. Worth a try, I guess."

After smashing his head in, Shepard turned to the depleted Seraphim squad. "Try to find a tank squadron and lead them to our location. After that fight, I don't want us going after these freaks without heavier firepower."

"Are you sure, Your Holiness?" Hiral asked. "You seemed to do just fine on your own."

Shepard waved in the direction of distant combat. "I can't be everywhere at once, and I won't take chances if I can avoid it." A bright flash of light in the sky briefly gave Prospero a second sun. "What the hell was that?"

The hairs on the back of her neck rose, an instinctive reaction to danger. Someone shouted a warning, but it was too late; Shepard felt agonizing pain as a sword stabbed through her back and out through her abdomen. The Terminator who had teleported in behind her raised her up in the air, almost like a tribute to the Dark Gods. With a scream of pain, Shepard ripped herself free; even as she fell to the ground, she blindly fired beams of light. She thought she might have hit her attacker, but then everything went dark.

…

"High Admiral, we've detected a reactor breach in one of the enemy heavy assets!"

Dartan raised a single eyebrow. "What kind of damage has it sustained?"

"Multiple hull breaches near the engines!" Alarms began to blare from the sensorium. "Confirmed, Warp breach is imminent. Calculating radius… nearly fifty thousand kilometers, possibly more!"

After a moment's estimation, Dartan frowned. "That will take a good number of the enemy heavies with it. We can use this; have all ships work to keep the enemy fleet contained and condensed, avoid separation protocols. Let's see if we can't get the enemy to do our work for us."

As he watched the hololithic display, the Imperial vessels either eliminated the enemy escorts or forced them to group around the larger vessels for protection. Many of the captains aboard the Chaos ships had already figured out what was about to happen, and more than a few ships attempted an emergency Warp jump. The process left those vessels open to Imperial fire, and many of them suffered heavy damage; some managed to escape in time, but when the massive ship—Dartan thought it might have been a battleship at some point in its life—detonated, many of the Thousand Sons' vessels were caught. The Imperial ships were outside the radius, but they began pulling back, just to be safe; that left them to watch as dozens of ships were pulled into the Warp, to a fate that no one wanted to contemplate.

"As soon as it is safe to do so, begin closing in to pick off the survivors," Dartan ordered. "Try to make contact with the ground forces, see if they need help. And get me a report on damages to our fleet!"

"Right away, High Admiral," one officer said, just as another jerked back in his seat.

"High Admiral, we have a message from Lord-Marshal Helmin!"

Dartan had known his bridge officers for years, and the panic in this one's voice was unusual. "What is it?"

"Our forces are engaged with a large enemy army, including Heretic Astartes. Casualties are at acceptable levels, but Saint Shepard is badly wounded!"

Dartan didn't even hesitate. "Get me Zandtus, now!"

…

"Covering fire on the left flank!"

"Die, in the Emperor's name, die!"

"Focus fire on that heavy gun!"

"Be purged, heretic!"

Hiral ducked under a flying body—perhaps it was a Seraphim trying to maneuver, or maybe it was a Guardsman getting thrown, he didn't know—and sent a burst of flame in the direction of a pack of Tzaangors. In the corner of his vision, he saw a Leman Russ tank driving backwards in an attempt to bring its guns to bear on a squad of Rubric Marines. All around him, he could hear the screams of the dying.

The battle had turned to anarchy; a dozen teleport strikes had occurred after Shepard went down, and with the regiments' attention divided, some Tzaangors had broken through the lines. The Thousand Sons were frustratingly durable when faced with lasguns, and they were smart enough to attack the tanks too quickly for the armor to react.

It didn't help that morale was low; rumors were running wild that Shepard was dead, and it was too chaotic for Hiral to try to put those rumors down. He knew for a fact that Shepard was alive, because she was next to him; the golden light that worked to undo her wounds was proof that she wasn't dead. She was certainly in no shape to fight, however; she'd been impaled by a blade as wide as her hand was long, and though Hiral was no medic, he was sure that many of her internal organs were damaged.

"Incoming!" a Seraphim nearby shouted. "On the right!"

Hiral whirled; a Rubric Marine was stomping towards his position, corrupted bolter raised. The Seraphim who had shouted, along with two of her sisters, fired their bolt pistols; the fusillade managed to damage the empty armor's left leg, and it fell before it could fire. Instead, it began to drag itself towards Shepard with one hand, while the other aimed its weapon.

"No!" Hiral rushed forward and slammed into the Rubric. He might as well have tried to knock over an adamantium wall; the Rubric kept going. Desperate to save the Saint, Hiral pressed the nozzle of his flamer into the throat of the Rubric, pulled the trigger, and didn't stop. The flames ate away at the less armored part of the Rubric, and then flooded into the hollow space a body should have inhabited. Hiral kept it up, not caring that the heat was melting his gloves and burning his flesh. Finally, just as the Rubric was about to fire on Shepard, it shuddered, and then collapsed.

His task done, Hiral sank to his knees; his flamer was spent, and its nozzle was warped beyond repair. He would face a reprimand for damaging his weapon like that, but he'd just saved a Living Saint; he figured that he would get a pass.

A horrifying cackle caught his attention; a Tzaangor was looking straight at him, and raised a bloodied chainsword. Without thinking, Hiral placed himself between the mutant and his Saint, ready to die for her if he had to.

Thankfully for him, that wasn't necessary; the Seraphim who had been nearby surrounded him, and killed the Tzaangor with a few shots. The one who had shouted before, a young Sororitas with onyx hair, glanced back at him.

"Well done," she said calmly. "Stay with the Saint. We will not let them close again."

The screaming of thrusters made all of them look up; as soon as he did, Hiral forgot all about the burns on his hands and arms. Instead, he felt hope.

"I don't think we have to worry about that now," he said, as the Necropolis Hawks fell from the sky.

The survivors of Shepard's initial force watched as almost the entirety of the Chapter descended from their massive Overlord gunships. Bolts flew, plasma chewed through armor, and blades flashed; Chapter Master Zandtus led the counterattack personally, his power sword crackling as he hewed through a sorcerer.

"For the Crusade!" he shouted, his helm's vox blaring his words far and wide. "For Shepard! For the Emperor!"

Hiral couldn't help but laugh as the Necropolis Hawks rallied the Astra Militarum forces; even with his limited viewpoint, he could tell that the heretics were being driven back. Soon, they would be destroyed.

"Damn, that was a yell." Hiral whirled and saw that Shepard was sitting upright; her armor was rent and stained with her own blood, but she was _awake_. "Why do they get to have so much energy? I'm tired, and that's not fair."

"Your Holiness!" Hiral scrambled over to her, as did the survivors. "Are you all right?"

Shepard pulled off her helm; her face was paler than before, but her gaze was strong. "Yeah, I'm getting there. It wouldn't be the first time I've been stabbed by a big sword." Her eyes unfocused as she became lost in memories, but then she chuckled dryly. "Hell, it's not even the fourth or fifth time. I need to stop getting stabbed." With a grunt, she heaved herself to her feet. "I guess we're done here?"

Hiral nodded; despite the carnage all around him, he'd never felt so relieved. "Yes, I believe we are."

"Good," Shepard said, "because I need some answers."

**Okay, so the battle on Prospero is all but wrapped up. I tried to keep the point of view for the battle on a smaller scale, but I hope I conveyed just how powerful (read: annoying) the Thousand Sons are. I've never played against them myself, but I've watched plenty of games with them, and they are a pain in the ass. Rubric Marines are stupidly durable, and Tzaangors are just one giant tarpit to fight through.**

**And yes, Shepard took a bad hit, but Living Saints heal from horrible wounds all the time. Just look at Celestine; she gets **_**decapitated**_**, and then gets better.**

**Also, while I'm sure that the Thousand Sons fleet commander had more experience than Dartan, Astartes naval vessels are more about planetary assault than ship-to-ship combat. Yes, they **_**can **_**fight and defeat Imperial Navy groups, but they were facing an entire Crusade fleet, and they were panicked. Even for a Space Marine, rushing into battle in void warfare can be costly… especially when a warp reactor breach can send an entire fleet into super-space-hell.**

**Oh, and I hope you liked those regiments I introduced. Some were original, others exist in canon. My personal favorite OC right now is Duchess-Colonel Riona; no idea why, but I couldn't stop grinning while writing her.**

**Now, I have some cool news! I'm hosting a booth at Loscon this year, November 29 through December 1. If you want to stop on by, maybe buy an autographed copy of my book, go get your tickets! It's the oldest running science fiction convention, which is really cool! If you can't make it, please consider buying my book on Amazon (link in my profile), or maybe donate on P-atreon (also a link in my profile)! Every little bit helps!**

**And now, I'd like to thank the following patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Parker Maisterra, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, The Big What If, Red Bard**

**Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225, Brian McGloughlin**

**Ultra Muffins: Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Shepard returns with her prize, and has a few questions for the Emperor…**

**To worship the Muffin is expected; to do anything else is heresy.**


	10. Purpose

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I WAS TRYING TO BUILD MY OWN BATTLE BARGE, BUT THOSE THINGS ARE HUGE. I GOT BORED AND WANDERED OFF.**

**Bit of a random comment, and it's a little late, but have you guys seen the new Sisters of Battle models? Holy Terra, they look amazing!**

Star-Bound

Chapter 10

Purpose

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," Shepard assured for what felt like the hundredth time. "I'm just tired."

"I am sure, Your Holiness," Rex said affably, "but you are the face of this Crusade. To lose you would stop this endeavor in its tracks."

"And I promise to be more careful," Shepard said, gently but firmly. "But I also won't stand by and let people die because I did nothing."

Rex bowed his head respectfully, accepting the Saint's words. "As you say, Your Holiness. Still, news of your victory on the surface has boosted morale throughout the Crusade."

Shepard smiled at that; after the battle on Prospero, she had been taken back to the _Vehemence_ to finish recovering. That had been almost three days ago, and the entire Crusade had celebrated for the first two; Shepard was just happy that her decisions had been vindicated.

After the partying, Shepard had personally led a memorial service for those who had lost their lives in the battle. Almost six thousand soldiers had died on the surface, and another ten thousand had been killed in space, including the crews of two escort vessels that had been lost with all hands. Other ships in the fleet had suffered damage, but thanks to Dartan's strategic acumen, the losses were far less than they could have been, and the Mechanicus was swarming over the damaged vessels to repair them.

Now, Shepard was almost done with the after-action matters. Thankfully, she had plenty of adepts who handled the paperwork for her—something she'd been unable to escape in two universes—and mostly just did the meet-and-greet. She did make a point of meeting with the officers, though it required taking shuttles to their transport vessels, who had gone down to Prospero with her, with mixed results.

Helmin was the only one she met aboard the _Vehemence_, and he was less boisterous than usual; he explained that while he did not shy away from sending soldiers into battle, he always took a few days to mourn their sacrifice. He did, however, promise that he would be back to his old self by the time the Crusade was ready to carry on. Shepard didn't patronize him with empty words, but she did share a glass of wine with him in honor of the fallen.

Commander Sren was stoic as ever, though he did thank her for accepting his regiment into her Crusade. If he showed less grief than anyone else, it was likely because the Redcowls had suffered almost no casualties in the battle, while killing thousands of Tzaangors that tried to fight their way through waves of promethium.

Colonel Klinner had to be regarded with some patience; Shepard spent almost five minutes just trying to get the woman to stop kneeling and just talk to her. The Eleventh Vigilant Guard had taken the brunt of the casualties on the ground, but they were prepared to take on replacements when they arrived at Vigilus, which the Crusade would return to before heading out again.

Commander Rand was in a fairly good mood when Shepard found him. His tanks had taken a fearsome toll on the Chaos forces, though he mentioned that it was a long ways off before the books were balanced between the sons of Cadia and the traitors.

Shepard almost didn't visit the Duranian Rangers—not because she thought they had performed badly in the battle, but because they were still reeling from a change in leadership. Despite his words, Borran had been unable to comprehend Chaos for what it truly was, and his mind had snapped. At first, Shepard thought he might have been afflicted by some mind-sorcery, but her powers did nothing to repair Borran's shattered psyche. He had simply gone mad. Reluctantly, Shepard allowed a Commissar to put the man out of his misery, and elected Captain Losvor to take command. He was still young, but reports suggested that he had fought well in the battle, and he'd kept his senses; Shepard was sure he'd be promoted soon.

The last of Shepard's visits was Riona. Despite her injuries, the Duchess-Colonel was in high spirits when Shepard found her in her regiment's infirmary.

"Ah, Your Holiness!" Shepard quickly restrained her before she reopened her wound. "Had I known you were coming, I would have made myself presentable."

"It's fine," Shepard said. "You're the prettiest injured person I've ever met."

Riona made a show of turning up her nose. "Of course I would be. How could I be anything less?"

Shepard chuckled. "It's good to see that you're on the mend. I'd hate to lose you so soon after becoming friends."

Finally, Riona was caught flatfooted. "I… we're friends?"

"I'd like to be," Shepard said. "You're the kind of person I like to call my friend. Besides," Shepard's voice took on a mock-teasing tone, "if you become my friend, you'll get dibs on being the first artillery unit on the ground whenever I need the big guns."

"Ah, so that's what it is." Riona grinned. "And here I thought you were taken in by my charm."

Shepard returned the smile, then surprised Riona by tapping her nose. "Nah, I've met more charming."

"Impossible!" The two women laughed, but Riona quickly sobered. "Your Holiness, I don't know if I've already said this, but thank you for rescuing my people. Many of them are distant relatives, and I hate to lose family."

"Happy to help," Shepard said, and then chuckled when she saw Riona's eyes begin to flutter closed. "Get some rest, okay? I want you back in the field when I need the big guns again."

"As you command…" Riona mumbled, and then fell asleep.

Shepard glanced at the medic who had just administered painkillers. "She _is _going to be okay, right?"

The man nodded. "She suffered a severe laceration and lost a fair amount of blood, but she will recover, Your Holiness."

"Good." Shepard stood up and stretched, wincing at the dull pain from her own injury. "I think I'm going to take my own advice and get some sleep. Have someone contact me if the Duchess-Colonel's condition worsens."

With that done, Shepard made her way to a shuttle that would take her back to the _Vehemence_. She had one more meeting she had to make, and then she would allow herself to rest.

…

_She was back in the forest, just a few steps away from the clearing. With her cane in hand, she slowly walked past the trees and found Revelation, right where he'd been before. Unlike last time, the fire had more life to it; it was still small, and barely provided any heat, but it was better than smoldering embers._

"_I'm back," she said, and sat down across from Revelation._

_The old man nodded, but didn't look away from the flames he continued to poke with his stick. "You were successful, I take it?"_

_Shepard grimaced. "I found a feather in a jar. Was it worth thousands of lives lost?"_

"_In truth? I do not know." Revelation huffed in a way that might have once been a laugh. "It points to one of my lost sons. He vanished shortly after Horus fell at my hand."_

"_A Primarch?" Shepard was shocked. "How does finding one _not _make things better?"_

"_Because of his role." Revelation's expression grew stony. "The Thirteenth is a brilliant strategist and administrator, the most valuable of traits in this dark age. The Seventh was a master builder and an unwavering bulwark against the blackest of nights, and would have made the Imperium's defense strong enough to weather the storm. The Ninth…" For a moment, Shepard could see the deepest sadness in Revelation's eyes. "The Ninth was a source of hope where none would dare. His mere presence would have given Humanity the strength to fight against the darkness. But the Nineteenth is none of those. He is vengeance from the shadows, a storm of focused rage, grief, and self-recrimination. He can win battles, that much I know, but can he win a war like this? It was never his purpose, yet I have found his shadow before any others; only time will tell if he can change anything."_

"_I'll find him," Shepard promised. "Even if he isn't the best choice, the Imperium needs every advantage it can get."_

"_You speak the truth," Revelation admitted readily. "I know he will be useful, just not on a large scale. Perhaps his brother will find the best place for him."_

_Shepard frowned; the way Revelation spoke of the Primarchs made it seem like he didn't think they were human. If anything, other than the mention of the Ninth, he almost seemed indifferent. A part of her wanted to call him out on that, but even though he appeared as an old man, Shepard knew that he could snuff out her life in an instant. She held her tongue, but made a note to confront him if he crossed a line._

"_You had other questions?" Revelation asked._

"_A few," Shepard said. "Why me?"_

"_Pardon?"_

"_Why did you choose me?" Shepard elaborated. "I still can't fully grasp how large the Imperium is, but there have to be billions of people more worthy than me. You could have just let me die."_

_Revelation was silent for a long moment, only staring at the flames and poking at them with his stick. "It was never about worth."_

"_Come again?"_

"_You are right; there are billions of souls across the Imperium who are more worthy to have this power." Shepard couldn't help but feel a tiny bit hurt at those words, even if she'd already believed them. "But your worth was not a factor. It was the artifact you searched for in your past. You absorbed part of its energy, and though you gave it up to save your world from the Primordial Annihilator, a small echo of it remained. I merely fueled that spark, much like you did here, before. If anyone else had had that power, I would have helped them."_

"_So, you're just saying that I got lucky." Shepard laughed bitterly. "Story of my life."_

"_Indeed." Revelation raised an eyebrow when Shepard looked at him. "I have seen into your mind. For a mortal, you've led an interesting life."_

_Shepard rolled her eyes. "If even half the things said about you are true, then the Reapers would have been a footnote in the Great Crusade."_

"_Possibly." Revelation tried to sound modest, but Shepard saw through it._

_For a while, they sat in silence, until Shepard noticed that the fire was dimming a little. Without putting much thought into how her actions actually affected things, she got to her feet—and suppressed a groan as her old joints ached—and walked over to a nearby tree. After a few tugs, she tore off a low branch and brought it back to the fire. Revelation watched, wide-eyed like before, as Shepard fed pieces of wood into the flame._

"_I'm not sure you are aware of just what you are doing," he said._

"_Maybe not," Shepard replied with a shrug as she sat down and held out her hands, "but I'm getting warmer. I'm old here, and my joints hate the cold."_

_Revelation chuckled. "As do mine, so you have my thanks." His expression then grew somber. "I know you have other questions."_

"_I do."_

"_Well, we have more time than before. Let me tell you a story…"_

…

Shepard awoke in her quarters; like before, she was shaking, but it nothing to do with her exhaustion. Instead, she was trembling under the weight of what had been revealed to her.

The Emperor's bargain with the Chaos Gods, and His attempt to betray them, all in an effort to save humanity.

The Unification War, and then the Great Crusade, and all the triumphs and tragedies those wars contained.

The betrayal of Horus, and eight other Primarchs.

The deaths of loyal sons, and the death of the Emperor's dream for the Imperium.

Throughout His tale, the Emperor had revealed to Shepard His own arrogance. He had thought that His mere presence would wipe away any corruption in the Primarchs the Chaos Gods might have left in them. He had been wrong, and His mistake had doomed humanity to a slow death.

But, for the first time in over ten thousand years, the Emperor had hope. Shepard's power had inspired Him to come up with a new plan; her connection to the Emperor had the unexpected side-benefit of a connection to the surviving loyal Primarchs. The first step of the plan was finding them; each of the survivors would be paramount to shoring up the Imperium's defenses long enough for the second stage.

The only thing Shepard objected to was not being told what the second stage of the plan actually was. The Emperor didn't tell her, on the grounds that His hope was tempered by ten millennia of disappointment. He was honest enough to admit that He didn't want to get Shepard's hopes up either, because there was a high chance that she would die long before even the first step was complete.

Thinking about that made Shepard laugh weakly. "First I had to find those shards, now I have to find a bunch of demigods. Well, at least I'm moving up in the world." She took a long, shuddering breath, and then looked up at the ceiling. "I wonder what you'd say about this, Gregor. I imagine you'd be excited for such a noble quest, right? And then you'd scold me for trying to take on all the responsibility myself."

Saying that out loud made her frown. "Well, I'm not going to do that. These guys believe in the Emperor; I can trust the officers, or at least the war council. I can trust that they won't betray the Emperor. I _have _to trust them; I can't think I can do everything myself." She smiled. "Thanks for that, Gregor; I love you too."

…

When Shepard called the war council together the next day, she didn't give a reason, only that she had something important to say. Rex and Blaise practically ran into the room in their eagerness; it reminded Shepard of David and Eleanor when they were children, and it almost made her laugh. Dartan was escorted by Helmin and Vils, while Zandtus and Xem-Beta were last.

"First of all, I want to thank you for coming on such short notice," Shepard said as they took their seats.

"You are a Living Saint, blessed by the Emperor, beloved by all," Rex replied. "It is our duty to come when called."

Shepard took a deep breath. "About the Emperor. Yesterday… I spoke with Him."

A tank could have driven through the wall, and no one would have taken their eyes off Shepard. Even Xem-Beta's constantly clicking optics froze.

"You…" Rex looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. "You _spoke _with the God-Emperor?"

"I did," Shepard confirmed, her voice quiet and composed. "He explained some of His actions in the past, His reasoning… and he told me why we came all the way to Prospero for this." She lifted the jar containing the feather off her lap and placed it on the table. "This is the first step in a larger plan."

Everyone stared at the feather, even as it occasionally flickered out of existence.

"It feels… familiar," Zandtus, who had yet to see it in person, said. "I cannot explain why."

"I can." Shepard leaned forward. "Think of this feather as a compass, but it leads to a person, not a place. Specifically, it leads to Corvus Corax."

Zandtus wasn't wearing his helm, so Shepard could see the naked shock on his face. She wasn't surprised; after all, the Necropolis Hawks were successors to the Raven Guard Legion, the sons of Corax.

"He lives?" Rex trembled in his seat. "Another son of the God-Emperor yet lives?"

"Yes," Shepard confirmed. "And he's just the first. The Emperor is looking for the others, but for now, we're looking for Corax, and—Zandtus, what are you doing?"

The Chapter Master had fallen to one knee, and his head was bowed. "Saint Shepard, I hereby swear my Chapter to your service. We will dedicate ourselves to you above all others, save the Emperor, if it means finding our father."

For a moment, Shepard wanted to refuse; she hated the idea of people bowing to her. But the Emperor had told her how dedicated the Astartes were to their 'fathers', and even the chance of reuniting with their Primarch was something most Chapters would jump at. So, instead of wincing, Shepard put on her most patient smile and walked over to Zandtus.

"I accept your oath," she said quietly, and placed a hand on Zandtus' shoulder; she ignored the fact that, even kneeling and with his head bowed, Zandtus was almost as tall as her. "As long as you accept mine—I _will_ help you find your Primarch."

Once they returned to their seats, Helmin spoke up. "Your Holiness, what is our next destination?"

"For now? We're going back to Vigilus." Shepard could tell that everyone was disappointed, but continued. "Our ships took damage in the battle, and I'd rather we be at one hundred percent before heading out again. We fought in Imperium Sanctus this time, but we might not be so lucky again."

"Saint Shepard is right," Dartan said. "I trust the ministrations of the Mechanicus elements of the Crusade, but the full attentions of a shipyard will speed up repairs dramatically."

"The High Admiral is correct," Xem-Beta added. "Even at full capacity, our fleet would only match sixty-eight-point-three-three percent of the Vigilus shipyards."

"We should also look at replacing the soldiers lost on the surface," Shepard put in mildly. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of volunteers, especially after word spreads that we defeated a Chaos fleet, _and _kept them away from a valuable prize."

Vils crossed his arms. "Wouldn't it be strange if we had to start turning people _away _from a Crusade? I mean, they have to keep some soldiers on Vigilus, don't they?"

Most of the war council laughed at that.

"There is something else I want to address," Shepard said when everyone calmed down. "And this is something from me—not as a Living Saint, not as a messenger from the Emperor, not even as the leader of this Crusade.

"Before I came to Vigilus… I was ready to die. Everyone I'd ever cared about was long dead, or didn't need me anymore. I'll admit that I was angry that the peace I wanted was taken from me when I was made a Saint. But I had to remind myself that just giving in was never who I was, even at my lowest. More than that, as long as I have people and a cause to fight for, I _will _fight. I have that cause now, but will you fight with me? Not because of your faith, or because of duty, but because it's the right thing to do."

For a moment, there was silence; then, Vils stood up. "From now until the end, I will fight with you… Shepard."

Helmin rose and flashed a winning smile. "After such a speech, how can I say no? You have my service, Shepard."

"I've already sworn my allegiance, but your humility is inspiring." Zandtus brought his right fist over his chest, a gesture Shepard recognized as a Unification Wars-era salute. "I will fight at your side."

"An interesting request," Xem-Beta said; his optic clicked rapidly as he studied her. "You are a fascinating subject. I will continue to aid you and your Crusade."

"You called, and I answered," Dartan said with the smile of a proud grandfather. "My ships will sail at your command, and I will not let you down."

There was a pause, and everyone looked at Rex and Blaise; the latter kept her feelings hidden behind an impassive mask, but the former frowned.

"My allegiance has always been to the God-Emperor first," Rex said.

"I'm not asking you to forsake that," Shepard replied. "I'm not even asking you to fight _for me_. I'm asking you to fight _with _me."

Rex considered that for a moment, then nodded and rose to his feet. "You have shown bravery in the face of the enemy, and compassion for those who fight and bleed alongside you. If you are not worth calling a comrade, then no one is."

Shepard smiled, and then looked at Blaise. "And what about you, Temperance?"

Blaise stood up and walked over to Shepard. "I would be proud to call you comrade, friend, and sister. If you need me, I shall be there; whatever you need, it shall be done."

With that, the war council as adjourned. Shepard returned to her quarters with the satisfaction of meeting not just with allies, but with friends. As she prepared for bed, she thought about something Blaise had said.

'_It shall be done', _Shepard mused. _I like the sound of that._

…

Three weeks later, the Shepard Crusade emerged from the Warp within the Vigilus system. As Shepard had expected, there was fanfare and celebration as soon as it was announced that they were returning from a successful campaign. She was quick to send a request for repairs for the fleet, more supplies, and reinforcements, all of which was granted within days of their arrival.

It was at this time that Imperial historians would note that the first instance of the Crusade's motto began appearing at the end of every message. It was a simple, four-word statement, yet it would come to represent the very soul of the Crusade. In the years ahead, those four words would drive every soldier to feats of heroism in the face of impossible odds. That statement would herald the salvation of Imperial worlds, and the death-knell of humanity's enemies.

_It Shall Be Done._

**So, yeah, a really short chapter today. Sorry it took as long as it did, but it's mostly a wrap-up to the start of the Shepard Crusade. Also, I've been really busy lately, and will continue to be busy for the next few weeks, so I thought I'd at least give you guys something.**

**I wanted to emphasize something that Shepard has always done in Mass Effect, at least when I play: Shepard's crew often fights for their commander as much as they fight for their mission. However, this is Warhammer, so no one's going to ditch the Emperor for her, even if she is a Living Saint. So Shepard asked them to fight with her—not a Saint, just Alexia Shepard. I didn't want her to start buying her own hype, but I still wanted her to keep the charisma that managed to win over the likes of Jack, Miranda, Grunt and Javik.**

**As always, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. There's a link in my profile, or you can look it up on Amazon. It's in both physical and digital format, so you can enjoy it either way! You can also be awesome and support me on P-atreon, and help me on my quest to one day write fan fiction all day long, without having to worry about things like having a home to live in.**

**And now, a shout-out to my patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, The Big What If, Red Bard**

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**Ultra Muffins: Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Time-skip! The Crusade marches on, while Shepard searches for the most shadowy of the Emperor's loyal sons…**

**Do you feel that, Xeno? That is the Muffin against your throat. **


	11. Crusade

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. OMNI-BLADES ARE COOL. CHAINSWORDS ARE COOL. OMNI-CHAINSWORDS, ANYONE?**

***Checks timer***

**Huh, I seem to have left the Crusade baking for a bit. Let's see how it's looking.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 11

Crusade

Delmoor VI had once been a beautiful world. Vast, open plains had supported the many farms whose goods were shipped to the rest of the sector, while the planet's moon manufactured machine parts to support a nearby Forge World. The world was peaceful, having only suffered an Aeldari pirate raid in M39, and many of the people had fooled themselves into believing that the dark forces in the galaxy would leave them alone.

That belief was shattered twice. First, by the Great Rift, which caused nightmares and madness in any who stared at it for too long. It soon became law to avoid looking up during the day, when the Rift was visible.

The second time the world's sense of safety was destroyed was the day the Orks came. The sky was torn asunder further as hundreds of ramshackle vessels appeared, disgorging fighters and landing craft. The Delmoor PDF marched to fight them, but that only made things worse; with such a visible target, the Orks gleefully descended on the defenders. Outnumbered a thousand to one and caught by surprise, the humans' resistance quickly fell apart.

Some believed that there was still hope; what remained of the planetary government had received a garbled astropathic transmission that suggested help was coming, but the Orks had destroyed all means of communication after that.

That hope wasn't worth much to the wider populace, even if they'd known about it. For little Jerris, all he knew was that the terrifying green monsters were chasing him and his mother, and they were catching up.

"Don't let go!" his mother yelled, trying to sound calm, even as they ran. "Keep hold of my hand!"

"Yes, mama," the boy gasped as he ran. His legs hurt, and his lungs burned from running all day, but the fear of the monsters behind him was enough to keep him going.

"We're almost there," his mother assured, though she hadn't told him where they were going.

Then there was a series of bangs, several wet thuds, and then Jerris' mother fell to the ground. Red blossomed across her back, and her hand slipped from her son's.

"Mama?" Jerris knelt by his mother's side and gripped her arm in tiny hands.

"R-run," she said weakly. "Run to the church… the Emperor p-protects…"

A shadow fell over Jerris; the boy turned and, for the first time, saw the face of the enemy. The Ork was huge with muscle, and would have been far taller than a man had it not been hunched over. It wore rough leather clothes over its scarred green skin, and its fang-filled jaw jutted out; in its hands, it carried a large gun. The smoking barrel suggested that this was the one who had shot his mother, though Jerris was too young to make that connection. All around him, thousands of Orks were swarming what was left of the rural settlement, butchering any human they found.

The Ork laughed, a deep, cruel laugh that made Jerris want to hide, but he was too frightened to do anything but stare as the beast pointed its gun at him. With nothing else to do, Jerris closed his eyes and silently prayed.

_The Emperor protects… the Emperor protects…_

Instead of a bang from the Ork's gun, there was a strange whistling, a crunch, and then a thud. Jerris cracked open one eye, and saw that the Ork was on its back; there was a strange hammer-like weapon buried in its chest, but then it was yanked upward by a cord of golden light. The weapon flew up to meet its owner as she flew down on golden wings and landed between Jerris and the corpse. The light emanating from her made it difficult to see, but she wore silver armor, with a red stripe edged in white going down the right arm and to the back of her hand.

"Don't worry, you're safe now." The woman's voice was gentle, like his own mother's, but there was a strength behind it that banished his fear.

The Orks had taken notice of the winged woman that just killed one of their own. They roared and stormed towards her, weapons raised in the air.

The woman brought two fingers from her free hand up to her ear. "Any time now, guys."

As if summoned by her words, hundreds of rockets rained down from the smoke-wreathed heavens and slammed into the onrushing horde, killing hundreds in an instant. Following the rockets were dozens of Valkyrie gunships that swooped in low to disgorge squads of Tempestus Scions.

"I need a medicae," the woman said, raising her voice to be heard over the engines. A man rushed over to Jerris' mother and cut away her shirt to examine her injuries. "Will she make it?"

"It would appear that the slugs missed her organs, or were lodged in her ribs," the man said, and then looked at the boy. "You won't be an orphan today, child."

At those words, Jerris' eyes welled up with tears, and he began to cry. An armored hand rested on his head, and he saw the woman smiling at him. Her red hair practically glowed in the fires of the explosions, and cast her silver armor in gold.

"Stay here," she said, and turned to face the Orks that were rallying. "Crusaders! These bastards go no further! Hold! This! Line!"

Hundreds of voices rose as one. "IT SHALL BE DONE!"

Red beams of energy hissed out into the charging Orks, accompanied by bolts of blue plasma and grenades. The gunships lifted off and added their own fire, shredding any greenskin they struck. The armored woman, however, just stood there, waiting; she seemed to be inviting the Orks to come after her, and they obliged, especially since the rest of the soldiers were taking care not to fire near her.

Just as a particularly large brute with a roaring chainaxe was bearing down on her, she lifted her weapon. She smashed the hammer-side into the beast's wrist, pulping it and leaving its swing unbalanced. She then flipped the weapon around and drove its blade-side into the Ork's head; the energized blade seared through skin, bone, and brain, and when she tugged the weapon free, the front half of the Ork's head came with it. With a shout, the woman grabbed the Ork's mutilated corpse and hurled it at several others, knocking them over.

"Attack!" she yelled, and Jerris looked up when he noticed the sky growing brighter.

More winged women, hundreds of them, were descending from the heavens. Unlike the first one, their wings were made of metal, and fire slowed their descent; each was armored in black plate, and most carried a pistol in each hand. They landed amidst the Orks, firing even before they hit the ground—and a few decided to crash directly on top of the aliens, crushing them with the weight of their descent. A small group had pistols, but also carried crackling swords and fought at their leader's side.

Jerris couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight, even as it devolved into a swirl of blood and smoke. The only detail that stood out throughout the entire battle was the woman with the golden wings. He watched, entranced, as she hacked her way through the Orks; even to his inexperienced eye, she wasn't graceful, but she also seemed to only put what effort was absolutely necessary to defeat a given foe, and when the fighting died down, she looked as fresh as when she'd first arrived.

"Good work, everyone!" the woman called out, and the various soldiers cheered. "Make sure our dead are put somewhere safe for burial, get our wounded and the civilians onto the gunships. Let's move!"

There were more cries of 'It shall be done!', and the soldiers dashed off. Some carried flamers and burned away the Ork bodies, while others helped their injured comrades and the neighbors Jerris had seen survive. It was all done remarkably fast; time had become strange for Jerris, but he could have sworn it had all taken only a few minutes. He was then gently tugged to his feet by one of the armored women.

"Come, child," she said gently. "I will take you to the gunship with your mother. She will heal faster if her son stays by her side."

Jerris nodded shakily, but as he walked, he looked over his shoulder at the woman who had first rescued him. "Who is she? Did… did the God-Emperor send her?"

The woman guiding him wore a helmet, but when she followed his gaze, her tone softened to a reverent degree. "She is Alexia Shepard, a Living Saint—she is the leader of the Shepard Crusade, and Harbinger of the Emperor's Wrath."

_A Living Saint! _He was only a child, but he knew enough to recognize the significance of a Living Saint. Had he not been held up by his arm, he would have fallen to his knees and made the sign of the Aquila.

"The Emperor _does _protect," he whispered as he was lifted onto a Valkyrie.

"Yes," the woman said as she stepped back. "Yes, He does."

…

Shepard watched as the gunships lifted off. "How many did we save?"

Vils glanced at a dataslate. "Six hundred and nineteen, Your Holiness. This settlement had about eight hundred inhabitants; we got here before the Orks could do too much damage."

Shepard nodded; there had been campaigns where they had been lucky to save anyone on a planet, but the Delmoor system was unusual in that they had been ahead of the Orks more often than not. On top of that, they were inflicting heavy casualties on the Orks; the current estimate was that this Waaagh! would be broken in less than a month.

Still, Shepard and the rest of the Crusade's leadership were unhappy with how long it was taking. In the five years since the Shepard Crusade began, they had waged a lightning war throughout Imperium Nihilus, striking hard and fast. Following the example of the Indomitus Crusade, led by Roboute Guilliman, they fought battles in systems where Imperial forces held out, or could otherwise by easily reinforced from Imperium Sanctus. In those five years, they had fought aliens, mutants, heretics, and traitors of almost every stripe, and had come out victorious every time.

For Shepard, the most important part of the Crusade was how it had bonded its members together. The combined-arms approach she'd taken had burned away old hatreds, and her soldiers fought as brothers and sisters, regardless of their unit. She'd seen Guardsmen shake hands with Skitarii, and Sisters of Battle share celebratory meals with Space Marines. They fought for each other as much as they fought for the Emperor, and that forged the Crusade into a fighting force willing and able to face any foe.

This wasn't the first time the Crusade had fought the Orks, and they had developed tactics to deal with them. Thankfully, they had been fortunate to catch most of them in the space above the planet, where the Imperial ships held the advantage. Shepard had led the ground forces to the smaller settlements that the Orks were attacking first, creating a show of force that would attract the greenskins away from the larger population centers.

Shepard could hear the scream of engines as bombers flew overhead, signaling the next part of the plan. As the Orks swarmed towards what they considered a good fight, they were exposed on the open plains; moving so fast, there was no time for the Imperials to land artillery, but Dartan had been more than willing to send flights of Marauder bombers to devastate the strung-out Orks. With the Orks in disarray from the bombing runs, the ground forces would relocate and present a new target. The strategy was extremely effective so far, and the Crusade had only been on the planet for a day.

"All right, we've done our part here," Shepard said. "Call in our transports, get ready for another strike. The Orks are still out there, so let's give 'em something to chase." As the Scions and Sisters got to work, Shepard tapped her vox bead. "Zandtus, did you find any signs yet?"

…

"I believe we have," Zandtus said as he stepped through a river of blood and gore.

"_Keep me updated as the situation develops. Shepard out."_

"This is the fifth site today," Torlim, Captain of the Necropolis Hawks' Third Company, commented dryly. "If Lord Corax was here, he certainly kept busy for a very short amount of time."

The Chapter Master hummed noncommittally. "From the records of the Great Crusade, I believe the greenskins of the time were much bigger. It is possible that Lord Corax finds this… easy."

Torlim laughed, a deep, bone-rattling sound that fit for a man in hulking Gravis armor. He had been captain of the Third for almost as long as Zandtus had been Chapter Master, and the two were among the first Necropolis Hawks. It might have been pride talking, but Zandtus hoped that it would be those among the first of the Chapter to find their gene-sire.

Such a task had taken years, but Zandtus wasn't discouraged; if anything, each world they went to suggested that they were getting closer to finding the long-lost Primarch.

It had started with the discovery of slaughtered Chaos Marines that had commanded an uprising on a hive world. They had been killed several weeks before the Crusade had arrived, while the cultists were still reorganizing. The wounds inflicted on the bodies suggested incredible strength, and the fact that the Chaos Marines hadn't even reached for their weapons hinted at inhuman speed, stealth, or both. The Necropolis Hawks were unanimously convinced that these assassinations were the work of Corvus Corax, and Shepard believed them.

Similar scenarios were repeated on nearly every world the Crusade had visited, with each instance happening with less and less time between the killings and the Crusade's arrival. As sons of the Raven Lord, Shepard had asked that the Necropolis Hawks send a force to locate and investigate each site. When not leading his Chapter's efforts on the wider battlefield, Zandtus would head these investigations himself.

"This was a major Warboss," he said as he knelt by what was left of a particularly large specimen. "Note the cuts against its ligaments; each was meant to disable, rendering the beast helpless for the final blow." His gauntlet brushed against the edge of a gash. "The cut is only deep enough to do the job; it's precise and efficient."

"Could it have been an Assassin?" Torlim fervently believed that it really was Corax, but in such discussions, it had become customary for one officer to play devil's advocate.

"Not like this, not on so many worlds," Vandtus argued calmly. The evidence supporting that it was Corax was almost overwhelming to the Primarch's gene-sons, which made any arguments against him seem weaker. "Still, we have searched this area, but we should expand our perimeter, just in case. If we have found nothing in an hour, we will return to dealing with the Orks."

"_Zandtus, come in!"_

The Chapter Master blinked at the urgent tone in Shepard's voice over the vox. "I am here, Shepard. What is it?"

"_I need immediate support from your Chapter at my coordinates! We've encountered enemy armor and heavy weapons! It's only me and minimal forces to help the local PDF, and you're the only one who can survive getting through the enemy flak!"_

Zandtus whirled and ran for the door to the Ork compound, Torlim on his heels, already calling out orders.

"We're on our way," Zandtus said grimly. "Just hold on."

…

In hindsight, Shepard knew that she had made a mistake. It was the kind of error that many leaders had made in the past—she had tried to play politics in a warzone, and now she was fighting for her life in terrible conditions.

One of the few remaining PDF regiments had been resupplying in a base, and had asked for the blessings of the Living Saint. While Shepard still had no idea if her 'blessings' actually did anything beyond hurt Chaos, she couldn't deny that it boosted morale, so she had diverted her course and let Vils handle the next counterattack. She had considered taking more of her crusaders, but decided against it; the Delmoor people were extremely proud, and the PDF didn't like the crusaders stepping on 'their' turf.

After some consideration, Shepard had arrived with her bodyguards—a squad of Zephyrim, elite Sororitas who specialized in close-combat jump assaults. The entire complement of the Order of Our Martyred Lady had competed in a tournament to see who would be part of this unit, so only the best were accepted. Blaise had christened them the Alexian Guard, and they swore to fight for Shepard as if the Emperor Himself was watching—and considering the relationship that Shepard had with the Emperor, He might well have been.

Though Shepard liked her elite unit, she'd wished for more when hundreds of Ork battlewagons and other ramshackle vehicles came bursting out of a cloud of dust and a flash of light. They hurtled towards the surprised PDF at downright suicidal speed, their crews' shouts barely heard over the throaty roar of the engines.

The PDF had done their best to rally, and had the walls of their fortifications, but they had few heavy weapons to fight the armor. Shepard's raw strength let her destroy vehicles with a single throw of _Liberator_, but there were too many enemies, and soon, the Orks had created a breach in the walls, and the aliens rushed out of their transports to charge through the hole.

It was there, at that breach, that Shepard fought alongside her bodyguards. There had been other battles where the Alexian Guard had proved their worth, but Shepard was still proud of that sisterhood as they fought together. Each Zephyrim was a veteran of battles even before the Crusade, and they put all their hard-earned skill and experience to use. Power swords hacked aliens in half, while bolt pistols boomed; occasionally, one of them would fly up with a burst from their jump packs and dive down on the Orks below.

Shepard's powers didn't affect the Orks, or anything that wasn't empowered by Chaos, but she was still strong, and she could fight. Moreover, she had experience from fighting the greenskins that attacked the Empire; the only difference was that these ones had guns and effective, if crude, vehicles. Thanks to that experience, she wasn't that surprised when the Crusade first encountered the Orks.

None of that was doing much good now, though, she reflected as she turned an Ork's skull to paste with a well-placed punch to the head. _Liberator _sliced off another's arm, sending it careening into a Zephyrim's sword. Shepard then drew her bolt pistol and fired into the head of a larger Ork until its skull exploded.

"Your Holiness, we cannot hold this position for much longer," a Zephyrim said, calm despite the fighting raging around them.

"I know," Shepard said, and then hurled _Liberator _into a pack of Orks, turning them into charred ruin. "We just need to hold out until the Hawks get here."

If she hadn't been fighting, Shepard thought the Sister would have bowed her head. "If that is your command, it shall be done."

Shepard smiled, though it faded when her vision was filled with red light. On the walls, the PDF had finally reorganized and were sending disciplined waves of las-fire down on the Orks.

"About time they got their act together," Shepard said; for a few minutes, the breach in the walls was clear of Orks. "Finally. I could use a breather. Everyone, take a break, reload, and pray we get some reinforcements soon."

In the distance, a cannon boomed, and the walls shook as a shell slammed into the base. More than one PDF trooper was knocked from the walls and fell to his death.

"Go to the local troops, they said, it'll be good for morale, they said." Shepard rubbed her temples in an effort to ward off a headache. "Next time, I'm bringing the whole damn Crusade, screw local politics."

A few of the Zephyrim who heard her muffled their laughter. They had gotten to know Shepard on a personal level, and her occasional bouts of complaining made her more approachable as a person.

Another shockwave buffeted the walls, but Shepard noted that the explosion had hit _away _from the base, amidst the Orks. Shepard grinned as a dozen Overlords screamed to a hover over the base; they continued to fire missiles, lascannons, and heavy bolters into the Orks, even as they disgorged hundreds of Primaris Marines. Two squads of Aggressors, wearing heavy Gravis armor and armed with boltstorm gauntlets and frag launchers on their backs, stomped up to the breach in the walls. At their head was Captain Torlim, who saluted with his sword.

"Saint Shepard, it is good to see you well," he called out. "Allow us to clear out these unwanted visitors."

Shepard made an exaggerated gesture towards the breach. "By all means, Captain."

The defenders cheered as the Necropolis Hawks sent out waves of disciplined bolt-fire into the Orks, shredding their infantry and lighter vehicles. Overhead, the Overlords concentrated on the many looted flak tanks and battlewagons. Within minutes, most of the Orks' antiaircraft weapons were destroyed, and hundreds of Valkyries joined in the airstrike, after depositing the Deltic Scorpions.

"For Saint Shepard!" Hiral cried as he charged out, the standard of the Crusade held high. "For the Emperor!"

Shepard couldn't help but be proud of Hiral; he had earned more than a few scars over the last five years, but was respected across every unit as one of the bravest men in the Crusade. He had traded in his flamer for a Militarum-issue bolter, which he fired with his augmetic arm, a replacement for the one he'd lost to a Chaos Marine two years earlier.

With his other hand, he carried Shepard's personal standard—a white-edged red stripe that went from the upper-left corner to the lower-right, on a field of storm-grey. At the center of the stripe was a golden skull with black wings behind it. At the bottom of the standard was the Crusade's motto, stitched in blood-red: _It Shall be Done_.

Shepard had been unsure about a personal standard, but the war council had convinced her that the Crusade needed a unifying symbol, something to rally behind. She had never created her own family crest in the Empire, though many had considered the white-edged red stripe the basis for a crest one day. She had taken that to heart when designing what had been dubbed the Shepard Banner; the grey represented her armor, and had the stripe incorporated. The golden skull represented the Emperor, and the black wings represented the first Primarch they were trying to find. And, of course, it included the Crusade's motto; it wasn't as ornate as other Imperial banners, but after explaining her reasoning to the war council, Xem-Beta had approved, saying it was efficient in its purpose.

There had been no argument when Shepard had suggested that Hiral be the bearer of the standard. He was already considered the first member of the Crusade, and it was right that he carry the Shepard Banner into battle. Since then, in all the campaigns he had held the banner aloft, the Crusade had achieved total victory.

As Shepard watched her friend carry her banner, she smiled and turned to the Zephyrim. "Come on, ladies; there's more work to be done!"

Shepard's wings materialized, and she shot into the air, followed by the Alexian Guard. They landed near a squad of Reivers as they hacked their way through the Orks; in later years, artists would capture the image of Shepard as she was about to land on a battlewagon, _Liberator _held high, while the most elite warriors the Imperium had to offer charged behind her.

The slaughter that followed was immense; with their heaviest weapons and vehicles destroyed, the Orks were unable to counter the Imperial response. Before the day was out, every Ork was killed, and their vehicles left as burning wreckage.

Leaving the troops to handle the cleanup, Shepard met with her friends. "What is it with you guys and dramatic entrances?"

Vils chuckled. "I don't think you have any room to talk after what happened this morning."

Shepard grinned at him. "What, you've never seen a hypocrite before?"

Zandtus crossed his arms and tried to look like a disapproving father, but failed. "I believe we discussed bringing additional forces when you attend to such matters?"

"Oh, come on!" Everyone laughed when Shepard, Living Saint and leader of the Crusade, pouted like a child. "How could I have known that the Orks had all that hardware left? They showed up out of nowhere! Seriously, where _did _they come from?"

"I believe they utilized their primitive teleportation technology," Zandtus said. "It is likely that they came from one of the remaining vessels in orbit. I believe that the leader I killed in this battle was the warlord; with so many of their leaders dead, what little coordination the xenos had is all but gone. I believe that the Orks will be completely vanquished within five days."

"Good to hear," Shepard said. "How's the cleanup of all those Ork spores coming along?"

"Between the analysis of the Mechanicus and the thoroughness of the Sororitas, the entire planet will be cleansed no more than three days after the fighting is done."

"Fantastic!" Shepard ran some calculations in her head. "There's a reclamation force coming from Vigilus in about three weeks. We can wait in orbit until they arrive; it'll give us time to treat our wounded and repair any damaged equipment."

"It will be good to see this world become a bastion of the Imperium once again," Zandtus commented.

Shepard grinned. "Yeah, it will be."

…

The Shepard Crusade had been wildly successful, but its impact on the wider Imperium was finally starting to show. Shepard had cleared dozens of small, but stable pathways through the Great Rift; called the Shepard Corridors, the Imperium was able to make contact with dozens of systems that were close to the Cicatrix Maledictum. Acting on orders from Roboute Guilliman himself, fleets were dispatched to turn many of these systems into strongpoints, from which further advances into Imperium Nihilus could be made. While Shepard had yet to meet the Avenging Son in person, he had sent her a message, thanking her for her contribution to the Imperium. It had sounded a little trite, but considering that the Lord Commander of the Imperium was overseeing a thousand conflicts every day, Shepard didn't complain.

Aboard the _Vehemence_, Shepard watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the last of the scrap-ships that were the Ork fleet were destroyed over Delmoor VI. The campaign hadn't lasted long, and casualties amongst the Crusade had been light; as always, the Crusade believed that the Living Saint had blessed their endeavor, while Shepard insisted that they had won so handily because of their own skill and courage. The war council knew that she wasn't just being humble, but that she genuinely believed that, and it only made them more loyal to her.

"Excellent work, Dartan," Shepard said. "As always."

"You honor me, Your Holiness," Dartan said from his command throne.

"Only because you earned it." Shepard raised an eyebrow as the ship's sensors detected vessels exiting the Warp. A moment later, they were confirmed to be Imperial. "They're early."

"The vagaries of the Warp sometimes work in our favor," Dartan commented. "The soldiers those ships carry will be an excellent garrison for this system."

"We'll let them get settled in, and then we'll be on our way," Shepard said. "Please inform the rest of the fleet that they've performed beyond even my expectations this time."

Dartan smiled and nodded. "Of course, Your Holiness. May I ask what you will be doing?"

Shepard gestured to her scuffed and bloodstained armor. "For one thing, I need to get cleaned up; I can't be making a mess on your beautiful ship. After that… I think I need to find out where we're going next."

…

While being a Living Saint had many burdens, it did come with a few perks. One of them was a large bath that Shepard could soak in and let her troubles wash away, if only for a little while. The tub itself was carved from marble and inlaid with gold; Shepard hated the ostentation, but she accepted it, if only because it let her enjoy the simple pleasure of a hot bath.

Not for the first time since arriving in this universe, Shepard couldn't help but marvel at her restored youth. She wasn't vain, but she enjoyed being young again. She had noticed that she'd stopped aging altogether, though she wasn't sure if she just appeared young, or was actually immortal.

"One more world saved," she said to the empty air. She played with the foamy bubbles all around her for a few minutes, and then looked over at the small object that rested on a stool. "You're really not making this easy for me, you know that?"

As if to taunt her, the feather she'd found on Prospero winked out of existence, only to return to its jar a heartbeat later.

Shepard scowled. "Seriously, where the fuck are you? We've been looking for you for five years and across dozens of planets. How are you traveling so fast?" She sank down to her chin in the water. "Why did the Emperor have to have such a weird kid? Why couldn't they all wear bright freaking blue, like Guilliman?"

She glared at the feather again; this time, the feather started to turn in place, until it pointed to her right.

"Oh. I guess you've arrived at wherever it is you are now." She sighed. "I guess I have to get out. Couldn't you have given me a few more minutes? I was comfortable."

With some muttered curses, Shepard washed off the bubbles covering her, and then grabbed a towel. She would have been happy with a simple cotton towel, but the Ecclesiarchy demanded that a Saint have the best, so the material was softer than silk, and always seemed warm. It was so comfortable, and Shepard was embarrassed to admit that she had a set of pajamas made of the same cloth for the nights when she was on the ship.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she would not be able to enjoy that particular creature comfort today. Instead, she put on her Militarum-issue officer's uniform, made sure it was free of wrinkles, grabbed the jar with the feather, and headed for the door. She considered braiding her hair, which now fell just past her shoulders, but she decided that could wait, and merely put it in a ponytail.

"Your Holiness," the two Alexian Guards outside her door bowed their heads as she entered the hallway. "Is something the matter?"

Shepard held up the jar. "It seems we'll be shipping out sooner than I thought. Please inform the war council that I'll need to speak with them once we arrive at our destination."

One of the Alexian Guards began transmitting the message through her vox, while the other kept close to Shepard's side as she walked.

"Your Holiness?" Dartan raised an eyebrow as she arrived on the bridge. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

"Neither was I," Shepard said, and presented the jar. "But it seems like we have work to do. Lord Corax, wherever he is, can't take a break."

Dartan bowed his head and waved her towards the map. This had happened many times over the years, but never so quickly. Shepard placed the jar on the map as the hololith expanded; she put one hand on the jar, raised the other, and closed her eyes. To anyone watching her, it looked like she entered a trance as she gently swayed side-to-side, while her hand drifted across the hologram of the stars. After a few minutes of this, her finger rested on a single mote of light, and she opened her eyes.

"Huh," she said as she read the name of the system. "I wasn't expecting that."

Dartan slowly limped over to her and highlighted the system she'd chosen. "Neither was I, but I am not one to question the Emperor's decree." He turned to his officers. "Spread word to the rest of the fleet—have their Navigators set course for Baal."

_Interesting, _a thought that wasn't her own entered Shepard's mind, _is the Raven going to the grave of the Angel?_

Whatever the reason, Shepard decided as the bridge erupted into activity, they would soon find out.

**Hooray, I'm back, and in less than two weeks this time! For some reason, this chapter just flowed much faster than usual.**

**Anyway, here's a five-year time-skip. What, you thought I would write every battle that Shepard fights? Hell no, it would be a hundred chapters of 'Shepard goes to (insert place here), kicks ass, moves on'. Instead, here's a unified Crusade that has had five years to work out the kinks, and is now a well-oiled (and blessed by the Omnissiah) machine.**

**I know I mentioned a Sororitas unit called Zephyrim a few times. For those of you who don't know, they are a new unit for the new codex. They're basically the Sororitas version of Vanguard Veterans—super elite Sisters with jump packs. I'd always envisioned a unit of Sisters called the Alexian Guard for Shepard, but I'd considered Seraphim until now. It fits, in my opinion.**

**And so, the hunt for Corax continues, but now we're headed for friendly territory—the homeworld of the Blood Angels! Why would Corax go there? Who knows? I mean, I do, but I'm the author. I know things.**

**While I am glad that I got this chapter out so soon, it's probably going to be a while before I get out another. I'm going to my first convention, Loscon, next week, and then I'm going to Empire Con the week after that. I'm selling my book there, so if you want a signed copy, come on down! If you can't make it, please consider purchasing **_**Alpha Sanction**_** by Josh Gottlieb****on Amazon. It'll give you even more to read!**

**And, if you want to be an awesome person, please consider supporting me on P-atreon (link in my profile), so that I can do nothing but write and attend conventions all the time. Imagine, me updating at least one of my stories every single week! You can make it happen!**

**I'd also like to thank those people who are already trying to make that dream a reality:**

**Serious Muffins: CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, Red Bard**

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**Ultra Muffins: Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Shepard visits the home of the Angels to search for a Raven, but more than just the Living Saint hunts for a Primarch…**

**We bear the Holy Trinity: Bolter, Flamer, and Muffin!**


	12. Shadows

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I HAVE TO WONDER, DO THE AELDARI LOOK AT THE NORMANDY'S STEALTH CAPABILITIES AND LAUGH? I BET THEY LAUGH.**

**Let's go see the Blood Angels! It'll be a Baal!**

… **I'll show myself out.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 12

Shadows

The mausoleum of Sanguinius was radiant, decorated with gold, gemstones, and the finest artwork the Blood Angels of old could fashion to celebrate their Primarch's life. It was a stark contrast to the dark mood that settled upon any of the Angel's sons if they entered to gaze upon his body, trapped within its stasis-casket.

However, to the one who beheld the body of an angel that fell at the hand of a demigod, there was no grief. Rather, there was no change in his grief; for millennia, he had been consumed by it, and seeing the results of a tragedy he had already known about did not diminish or darken his black humors.

"It does not end," he said to the body of his brother, and though the mausoleum was meant to carry echoes high in reverence, his voice carried no such echo. "I have traveled this galaxy to slay the foes of mankind, and I have taken Father's vengeance to the very gates of His enemies, and yet I feel no satisfaction. Is there even any point?"

The corpse did not give an answer, not that one was expected.

"Of all of us, I wish you had been the one to survive," he continued. "You brought hope in the darkest of times, where I only brought vengeance and grief. If there was truly any justice in the galaxy, it would be my body lying in state on Deliverance, and you would be governing the Imperium with a righteous hand." There was a dry chuckle. "Instead, everything we fought for has turned to ash and half-forgotten legends. Even the return of Roboute has only slowed our enemies' progress. You might not have matched his penchant for strategy, but you would have stoked the fires, not simply hold them in place."

He bowed his head and looked down at his hands; his claws were still slick with alien blood.

"At least both of you had something to offer the wider Imperium. What do I offer? Nothing but regret and the promise of retribution." He looked back up at the slain angel. "The Imperium needs you at Roboute's side, brother; you, Rogal, Lion, even Jaghatai. Not me. There is nothing I offer. Only death."

…

The _Vehemence _tore out of the Warp like a hot knife through butter. As always, Shepard's flagship had forged a new path for the Crusade, and for the Imperium. Unlike many of their travels, the fleet arrived to see hundreds of guns that were ostensibly on their side aimed right at them.

"Transmit our allegiance!" Dartan barked as alarms screamed. "Raise void shields, but do not open fire!"

Shepard, still pale after struggling to keep the ship safe from the Warp, raised an eyebrow as she watched the fleet of red-painted warships move to intercept them. "A bit of an overreaction, isn't it?"

"The Blood Angels were mauled during the war here not long ago," Dartan reminded her. "If anything, I am surprised they didn't fire on us immediately."

"I applaud their restraint," Shepard drawled. "Have they recognized that we're on the same side yet?"

A bridge officer bowed in her direction, though the woman's action was odd, since long cables connected her shaved scalp into the floor. "They have confirmed that we are loyal servants of the God-Emperor, Your Holiness. The noble Blood Angels demand that a representative of the Crusade transfer to the Battle Barge _Blade of Vengeance_."

Dartan frowned. "Honored Chapter or not, security or not, their demand is unusual and borders on insulting. Naval protocol dictates that parties from both fleets should meet at neutral ground to prevent an unneeded battle. Your Holiness, what would you have us do?"

Shepard closed her eyes; she wasn't one to back down in a confrontation, but she preferred avoiding bloodshed amongst friendly forces.

"Transmit to the Blood Angels that I will be meeting their own representative personally," she said, her voice full of iron. "Also, tell them that I _will _bring my own security force. This is non-negotiable."

A few minutes later, the same bridge officer bowed again. "They have accepted these terms. No more than five bodyguards will be present on either side."

Shepard nodded. "All right, let's get this over with."

…

Even from a distance, the _Blade of Vengeance _had clearly seen better days. Shepard could see half-repaired rents in her hull, enormous dents, and she suspected that many of the ship's secondary weapons had been knocked offline. Still, her tiny shuttle was no match for the venerable warship, and it felt like she was entering the maw of a titanic beast as she flew into the launch bay.

Though she didn't show it, Shepard was nervous; the Blood Angels were one of the most lauded Chapters of Astartes in the Imperium, credited with so many victories that it would have taken her years to read them all. However, the Blood Angels and their successors were also infamous for uncontrollable slaughter at times, as much a danger to friends as foes.

She was glad that her escort was as good at keeping their own emotions in check. Rather than take members of the Alexian Guard, she had asked Zandtus to loan her a few Necropolis Hawks. When the Alexian Guard had protested, she explained that the Blood Angels might be more receptive to fellow Space Marines, even if they were from a different lineage; with tensions so high, she wanted to do everything she could to defuse the situation. In the end, the Alexian Guard had accepted her reasoning, and Zandtus had assigned Captain Torlim and a quartet of Aggressors as her escort.

"Have you ever met the Blood Angels before, Captain?" Shepard asked as the servitor-piloted shuttle began to land.

"No, Saint Shepard, but I did fight alongside one of their successors during the Indomitus Crusade," Torlim said. "The Knights of the Chalice—Primaris, like my own Chapter. They fought well, with no sign of the rumors surrounding their founding Chapter."

"Well, I have nothing better to go on, so tell me—what were the Knights of the Chalice like?"

"A little on the taciturn side, I suppose, but eager to prove themselves. That was over a century ago, by my reckoning, so they might have changed."

Shepard sighed. "Lack of communication and updates on statuses is such a pain." As the shuttle finished landing, she stood up. "Well, time to meet our hosts."

The ramp on the shuttle lowered with a hiss, and Torlim led the way down, followed by the Aggressors. Shepard went after them, doing her best not to be overwhelmed when she saw who was waiting for them.

From everything she had read, Shepard had expected the Blood Angels to have armor the color of blood. She wasn't expecting the half-dozen Space Marines to be armored in gold; none of them were Primaris Marines, but their armor was exquisite, as were the weapons they carried. Aside from the winged jump packs, their armor was sculpted to make them look like gold-painted humans; the carried massive power swords or axes in one hand, and had modified bolters attached to one forearm.

In front of his bodyguards was a Space Marine of such regal bearing that Shepard briefly wondered if she was meeting an actual angel. His armor was no more ornate than his fellows, though the helm he wore was sculpted to show an exquisite death mask. His jump pack wasn't winged, and his axe was slightly less ornate, but the aura of command that surrounded him was enough to convince Shepard of who he was.

Shepard brought her hands up in the sign of the Aquila and bowed her head. "Greetings, Commander Dante. It's an honor to meet you."

Dante, Chapter Master of the Blood Angels and Lord Commander of Imperium Nihilus, nodded in return. "Greetings, Saint Shepard. Forgive the abruptness of this meeting, but there is much to do, and little time to do it."

"I understand," Shepard said. "We'll try to cause as little trouble for you as possible, and if you need anything, we'll do our best to provide."

Dante nodded again. "That would be greatly appreciated, on both counts. Now, what brings you to Baal?"

"We came here because we're looking for someone," Shepard said. "A Primarch, to be specific."

It was impossible to read Dante's expression behind his helm, but Shepard was positive he was frowning. "There is only one Primarch on Baal, and he has been dead for over ten thousand years."

Shepard just shrugged. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but we're looking for a different Primarch, Corvus Corax, and he's very much alive. No idea what he's doing here, but we've been tracking him for five years."

Dante tilted his head in the direction of Torlim. "Necropolis Hawks; successors of the Raven Guard, if I am not mistaken."

Torlim bowed as much as his bulky armor permitted. "You are correct, Lord Dante. My Chapter believes that we are indeed searching for our gene-sire, and our path has taken us here."

For a moment, Dante was silent. "What would the Raven Lord want on the home of his lost brother?"

When Torlim said nothing, Shepard stepped forward. "I can't say I know the mind of a Primarch, but maybe he's here to pay his respects?" She hesitated, then kept speaking. "When my sister died, I visited her tomb as often as I could."

The Necropolis Hawks' reaction was minute, but it was still noticeable by the Blood Angels. Shepard had never spoken of her personal life before becoming a Living Saint, so this was the first anyone in the Crusade had heard of her having family. They didn't know that Eliza was Shepard's adopted sister, but it had been many decades since Shepard had included the 'adopted' part.

None of that mattered to Dante, whose hand drifted to his axe. "Tread carefully; Saint or not, it is unwise to presume anything about the Primarchs, especially the Angel."

Surprising the Necropolis Hawks further, Shepard knelt. "I'm sorry for any offense, but I can't think of any other reason why Corax would be here. I'll hand over my weapons, but I would like to visit Sanguinius' resting place."

By the time Shepard blinked, Dante had crossed the distance between them, and his axe rested against her throat. Torlim had his power sword out and poised to strike at Dante, while the Aggressors and Sanguinary Guard aimed their guns at each other.

"You ask much, woman," Dante hissed. "I know nothing about you, other than that you claim to be a vessel for the Emperor's power, just like every other so-called Saint. You could be an agent of Chaos in disguise, sent to defile the body of my Primarch. It has been attempted before, but so long as I live, it shall not happen again!"

Shepard slowly raised one hand, and gestured for the Necropolis Hawks to stand down. She never broke eye contact with Dante, and waited until her escorts had lowered their weapons before speaking again.

"You're right. You have no reason to believe me. If I was in your position, I'd be skeptical, too. So, how about a compromise? I'll wait outside, and _you _go see if someone managed to sneak in. I imagine that if anyone could make it past your security, it would be Corvus Corax. If I'm right, I would appreciate being allowed to speak to him; if I'm wrong… well, it wouldn't be the first time."

Dante was still for a long moment, but then lowered his axe. "Very well. We shall see if anything has disturbed the Angel's resting place. If you are wrong, I will personally remove your head, and those of all your followers for attempting to desecrate the Angel."

Shepard only raised an eyebrow. "That sounds fair."

At any other point in her life, Shepard might have considered a backup plan. Very rarely did she put all her faith in a single course of action, even if there _was _only one course of action. Yet, ever since arriving in the system, Shepard felt the Emperor nudging her to follow this path, assuring her that what she was doing was right. Even though there were things in His path that she thought were mistakes—and when she'd spoken to Revelation about that, He had agreed—the Emperor had sworn to her that He would only guide her to the goals that _she _wanted to achieve. It just so happened that they both wanted the same thing.

Dante looked deep into her eyes; whatever he saw in them was apparently satisfactory, because he stepped back. "You will be prepared before landing on Baal. Only the most humble of mortals may enter the mausoleum."

…

Six hours later, Shepard stood outside a massive structure; painted red and chased with gold, the mausoleum was the largest building for miles around. Considering how beloved Sanguinius was to the Imperium, it seemed appropriate. However, there was a hint of disapproval from the Emperor in her mind; perhaps the Angel would have preferred something more humble in death.

Shepard glanced down at herself. _Speaking of humble…_

The Blood Angels had been very strict regarding her appearance and conduct upon reaching the mausoleum. Gone were her armor and weapons, kept safe in the shuttle that had taken them all to the surface. Instead, she wore simple red robes, and her braid was undone, leaving her hair to fly freely in the evening breeze.

The Necropolis Hawks had been allowed to keep their weapons and armor—both because the Blood Angels had no right to demand fellow Space Marines to remove their wargear, and because they were still charged with protecting Shepard.

"Wait here," Dante commanded, and walked to the doors of the mausoleum. The Sanguinary Guard remained behind, to keep watch over their visitors.

"This is an outrage," Torlim growled; he knew the Blood Angels could hear him, but he clearly didn't care. "You have led armies and saved so many worlds. You should not have to suffer this indignity."

Shepard patted his left arm, the one wearing a massive boltstorm gauntlet. It was even more ridiculous to see, given her current appearance. "I've suffered worse. This is an inconvenience to us, but it's a big deal to them."

Torlim nodded, and though he wore a helmet, Shepard could tell he was still upset. During the Crusade, the Necropolis Hawks had become almost as devoted to her as the Sororitas. Part of it was because Shepard was seeking Corvus Corax, but she had also earned their loyalty through so many battles, and treated them as respected colleagues and friends, rather than the fearful reverence that made so many Astartes uncomfortable.

"Let's just be patient," she said. "One way or another, we'll be done here soon."

…

Dante did not need to be a psyker to know that something was wrong as soon as the doors closed behind him. Though the mausoleum was as bright and beautiful as ever, there was an oppressive darkness that had nothing to do with the grief in his soul that came from being there. There was also the matter that the Sanguinary Guards who kept watch over this sacred place were nowhere to be found—a more practical warning that had him ready to lock down the entire planet.

And then there was the smell; the sons of Sanguinius had a deep connection with blood, and even through his helmet's filters, he could smell it in the air. It was fresh xenos blood—Ork, he was sure—as well as older blood. Human, he decided after a moment.

Something _was _here.

"Show yourself," he demanded, his voice almost feral in its fury. "I will suffer no trespass here."

"You are quite presumptuous, little nephew," came a voice. It was tired, but regal—the voice of a king who had become overburdened with duty and loss. "I have as much right to be here as any of the Ninth Legion. No, wait… you are a Chapter now. It would explain why there were so few of you to guard this place. Do not worry, they still live; I simply made them sleep for a while."

Dante activated the power field on the Axe Mortalis and raised it high. His anger was rising, and with it, he could feel the Black Rage slowly uncoil within the cage of his willpower. "I will not repeat myself: reveal yourself!"

"You will have to turn around, first." This time, the voice came from behind him, and Dante whirled. He had his axe raised, but as soon as he turned, he froze.

Out of the shadows stepped a figure of legend. He was huge, easily dwarfing Dante; his black armor seemed to flicker in and out of the shadows, like a candle's flame held next to a bonfire. His hair was long and unkempt, and his beard was shaggy; his armor, while crafted to a standard rarely seen in the current age, was pitted and cracked. Only his enormous lightning claws, constructed around his forearms to give his hands freedom of movement, were unblemished; they gleamed with the promise of a swift death.

The Raven Lord was not celebrated like the Angel, but Dante had seen his image in records, and there was no mistaking the symbol that dotted his armor. With only a moment's hesitation, he fell to one knee.

"Lord Corax," he said quietly. "It is an honor."

"Please, rise," Corax ordered. "I have had my fill of kneeling warriors who have earned far more honor than I."

Reluctantly, Dante stood. "My Lord, the Imperium has long awaited your return, but with you and Lord Guilliman, perhaps—"

Corax held up one hand to silence the Chapter Master. "That is not my purpose. Not now, and perhaps never." He turned to gaze upon the corpse of his brother. "No, I have been following the path of vengeance; it is one with no visible end, but it is a penance that I must bear. But… perhaps you can help me, while I am here."

Dante resisted the urge to kneel once more, still in shock; after all, he was the first Astartes in thousands of years to have claimed that he had spoken with _two _loyal Primarchs.

"Anything, Lord."

"I will admit that I do not know why my path brought me here," Corax said, almost ruefully. "In truth, I first thought that I had been granted a reprieve, to visit my fallen brother and reflect on my actions. But I sense that my purpose here is not yet done."

A thought came to Dante, and he cautiously voiced it. "With respect, Lord Corax, I may know. There is a mortal outside this place, a woman, who came here searching for you; she even claimed that coming to visit the Angel would help in her quest."

Corax regarded him; he looked as surprised as a Primarch was capable of appearing. "I have been sought by many, including my own sons, but never has one come so close." He turned back to Sanguinius for a moment. "Bring her here. I will speak to her alone… and remove your guards from the interior."

Now, Dante almost refused; never before had the Angel's body been left unguarded. However, he reluctantly admitted that few beings could be more capable of protecting something than a Primarch.

"As you wish, Lord Corax."

…

Shepard's patience finally paid off; after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the doors to the mausoleum opened once again. She was surprised when Dante emerged, not by himself or with a living Primarch, but dragging the unconscious bodies of two Sanguinary Guards.

"There are more of your brothers inside who must be brought out," he said to the Astartes guarding the visitors. "Bring them here and tend to their injuries." He held up his hand when the other Sanguinary Guards looked ready to do battle. "The Angel is in no danger, I assure you."

"Is there anything we can do?" Shepard asked politely.

Dante gave her a flat stare, his expression concealed by his death mask. He seemed to be considering what to say next.

"Once this task is done, you will be allowed inside. That is all I can say."

Beside her, Torlim and the other Necropolis Hawks tensed; Shepard turned to them and gave them her best smile.

"I'll be back," she promised. "Either with a Primarch, or our next clue."

Torlim nodded reluctantly. "As you say. I do not wish to sound impatient, or ungrateful, but I hope you hurry."

"We've been at this for five years," Shepard said. "I think we can afford a little longer."

Once the unconscious Sanguinary Guards were recovered, Shepard walked inside as calmly as she could. For all her projected confidence, she was more than a little nervous. When the doors closed, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness; she followed the path until she found two demigods.

The first was glorious, even in death. Sanguinius' golden armor had been repaired, right down to the rubies dotting every plate. His beautiful white wings curled around him, almost like an embrace; his expression was sad—which was unacceptable on a face so perfect—but also strangely content.

The second was almost totally eclipsed by his brother's light. He was weary and battered, but he was determined to carry on. Shepard recognized that in herself—to give up now would be to spit on every sacrifice made on her behalf.

"I envy him, in a way," Corax said, not looking at her; he maintained a steady gaze upon Sanguinius. "He is no longer burdened by the darkness that creeps ever deeper into the soul of Mankind."

Shepard cautiously walked next to the Raven Lord. "What would he do if he was here now?"

"Oh, he would fight, and he would lead." Corax chuckled; it sounded like dead leave brushing against each other. "He would never let the weight of his position show—he was obsessed with being a beacon of hope for everyone."

"Not you, though," Shepard said.

"No. Not me." Corax glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "I was always meant for the shadows, to cut the throats of our enemies, so that those like Sanguinius and Guilliman would remain untainted. I never sought glory."

"Neither did I," Shepard said. "When I started out, I just wanted to help people, to keep what happened to my family from happening to anyone else. But then I found myself leading people, and doing the things no one else would, because no one else thought the true enemy was real. When they were finally defeated, I thought I was done, but I wasn't; I kept fighting until my new home was safe. I had friends and family… and then they died, too."

"Tragedy is a constant companion for those who fight in war," Corax said.

"Most of them died of old age," Shepard replied. "And when I grew old, I thought I would join them. Instead of letting me have my peace, I was brought here, and the Emperor gave me a new mission."

Corax scoffed. "And what lesson does my father have for me, Saint?"

"Oh, He never gave me any message," Shepard said. "He just wanted me to find you. Everything else is all me.

"Sometimes, what we think is our destination is just one more step along the way. Sometimes, we get so caught up in what we've lost that we can't move forward on our own. Sometimes… we need someone to help us take that next step." Shepard moved between Corax and his fallen brother. "You said it yourself: Sanguinius wouldn't have stopped. I can tell how much you respect him, so can you do any less? The Imperium needs another champion, Corvus Corax; just because you're a blade in the dark doesn't mean you can't come into the light."

Corax stared at her with dark, unblinking eyes. "Who are you?"

Shepard was tiny in comparison, but she met his gaze without flinching. "I am Alexia Shepard. I've lived three lives, I've watched a galaxy burn, and I've lost two families. I've had my soul broken apart, and I've come back from the dead. I've been a hero in three different galaxies, and trust me when I say that I know how badly people need their heroes.

"You've lost so much in your own life. Your brothers betrayed you or died, your Legion was massacred and then broken up, and the dream your father left behind has been twisted beyond recognition. Now, more than ever, people need not just a hero, they need one who has looked into the abyss, and didn't blink."

Corax's eyebrows disappeared behind his bangs. "You have a way with words."

Shepard grinned playfully. "Would you believe that I came up with that whole speech just now?"

"Sanguinius would do that," Corax said. "None of his sons ever believed that he made it up on the spot." He turned his gaze back to the Angel. "I have spent ten millennia seeking vengeance, with only my claws and my conviction for company. Perhaps… perhaps I _can _do more if I step out of the shadows and lead once more."

Shepard's heart filled with hope, but as she took a step forward, Corax vanished; it took her a moment to realize that he had moved so fast that her eyes had been unable to track him. Then there was a bang from a bolt pistol, and the sound of an impact of a bolt shell on armor.

"You think to strike from _my _domain?" Corax asked, his voice full of outrage; he had placed himself between Shepard and her attacker, and was glaring into the darkness.

"Only at one who would disrupt my plans," a deep voice said.

Shepard peeked around Corax to see a Space Marine step into the light. His black armor was ancient, and covered by a cream-colored hooded cloak. He carried a smoking bolt pistol in one hand, and a plasma pistol in the other; slung over his back was a magnificent sword.

"I recognize your lineage," Corax growled as he activated his lightning claws. "What does a son of the Lion want here?"

"To end the cycle," the Space Marine said calmly. "It begins with the fall of angels."

Shepard was moving even before the pistols shifted to aim at Sanguinius. Corax blocked the plasma with only a scorch on his shoulder, but Shepard took a bolt shell to the right leg. She screamed as the shell detonated, blowing apart her leg in a fountain of blood and bone; Corax effortlessly caught her before she hit the floor, but when he turned back, the Dark Angel was gone.

The doors to the mausoleum slammed open; Dante rushed in, followed by Sanguinary Guards and the Necropolis Hawks.

"What has happened?" Dante demanded.

"An assassin came to defile my brother's resting place," Corax said tersely. "I can sense that he is gone, saved by powers not unlike my own; he is far from here, I assure you. However, this woman needs…"

Corax trailed off as golden light poured from what was left of Shepard's leg; in minutes, the limb was whole and unblemished.

"Yeah," she said tiredly, "that happens sometimes."

There was a loud clang that caught everyone's attention; the Blood Angels turned, ready to fight, but it was only Torlim, who had dropped his sword and was now staring at Corax in awe. For his part, the Raven Lord gently helped Shepard to her feet, and then strode over to the Primaris Marines.

"I would recognize my gene-sons anywhere," the Primarch whispered, almost to himself, as he inspected the Necropolis Hawks. "But your appearance… impossible. The Raptors Program was a failure. Who are you, and what is your Chapter's name? I remember no successors like you."

Torlim took a shaky breath. "My Lord, we are the Necropolis Hawks, successors to the Raven Guard, of the Ultima Founding. I know not what the Raptors Program is—we are Primaris Astartes, the next generation of Space Marines, sanctioned by Lord Guilliman and pioneered by Archmagos Belisarius Cawl. We are your gene-sons, and we have been searching for you."

Corax stared into Torlim's eyes for a long time. "If there was ever a sign that I should return…" he smirked. "No son of mine has seen me since my departure from Deliverance, yet, here you stand, asking for me to step into the light once more."

"It's like I said." Shepard gingerly stepped forward. "Sometimes, we need someone to give us that push."

"It would seem that you are right." Corax put a hand on Torlim's shoulder. "What is your name and rank, my son?"

"Arquevan Torlim, Captain of the Necropolis Hawks' Third Company."

"Is the rest of your Chapter here?"

"They are in orbit, with the rest of the Shepard Crusade, my Lord."

Corax nodded. "Very well. Long has it been since I fought alongside my gene-sons; it is time for my absence to end."

…

As was their right as his gene-sons, the Necropolis Hawks were the first to greet the Primarch in an official capacity. While Dante ordered that the mysterious intruder be searched for, he escorted Corax, Shepard, and the Necropolis Hawks to the _Black Necropolis_. There, the entire Chapter had assembled in the ship's hangar to witness Corax's return.

As soon as the ramp of the Thunderhawk lowered and Corax stepped out, a thousand Primaris Marines knelt as one.

"My Lord Corax," Zandtus said, barely able to maintain his composure, "I am Raquilon Zandtus, Chapter Master of the Necropolis Hawks. It is an honor beyond words to meet you at last."

"Rise, my sons," Corax said, with the patience of someone who had been through this many times. "Now is not the time for ceremony. I have returned to you, and to the Imperium, because I am needed. However, no longer can I wage this war alone; will you fight with me?"

Zandtus did nothing to hide his tears as he and his Chapter rose. "Always and forever, my liege."

Corax nodded; Shepard, now armed and armored, noticed that the Primarch was quickly getting used to commanding once more.

"From what Saint Shepard has told me, the first part of her quest is over; I ask only that the Shepard Crusade come with me to Deliverance, and then to Ultramar. All of my sons will know of my return, as will my brother; after that, I will place myself under Guilliman's command, and we will strike down the Emperor's foes!" Corax turned to Dante. "Nephew, would that I could stay and help you secure this sector, but I must speak to my brother."

Dante shook his head. "Lord Corax, I am not worthy to command a Primarch's attention; all I ask is that you convey a message to Lord Commander Guilliman, asking for additional forces."

"It shall be done," Corax said, and Shepard almost smiled when he used her Crusade's motto. "Expect many of your future campaigns to be easier; you'll find that your enemies' leaders have been cut down before you make planetfall."

Dante was about to thank him, but something caught his attention on his vox; when he turned back to the Primarch and the Saint, he was clearly agitated.

"We have a new problem," he said.

Shepard couldn't hold back her groan. "Of course we do."

"An enormous fleet has arrived at the Mandeville Point. They bear the signature of the Dark Angels, and many of their successors… and they are demanding that we surrender."

"Um…" Shepard held up one hand. "Is anyone else confused?"

**Yay, I'm back to this one! No idea why it took me so long for a chapter that wasn't that big. I hope you liked it; I had a lot of fun with the dialogue between Shepard and Corax. Yeah, Corax has been alive a hell of a lot longer than Shepard, but Shep has been through much more than a mortal has any right to bear. Also, she's got a bit of the Emperor's soul in her now, so she probably has an instinctive idea of how to deal with Corax.**

**And yes, that was Cypher, here to do inexplicable things again. This time, he's drawn the Legion-in-all-but-name, the Dark Angels and Friends, to Baal. This should be fun, right? Shepard hasn't had to fight fellow Imperial forces yet, and what's a 40K story without internecine warfare?**

**As always, please consider purchasing my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb, either on Amazon, or my website (link in my profile). Remember, if I get sales, it brings me just a little closer to being able to write fan fiction all the time!**

**Another way you all can help is by donating on P-atreon (also a link in my profile). Seriously, people who do either option get mad Muffin points. Here's a list of those who earned enough of those metaphorical points:**

**Serious Muffins: ****CrazySith87, jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, Red Bard, Ultimatrix10**

**Incredible Muffins: ****RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225, Brian McGloughlin**

**Ultra Muffins: ****Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: In the heavens above Baal, Angels clash, while a Saint and a demigod race to unmask the one behind it all.**

**By the blood of the Muffin, the Angels have come!**


	13. Angels

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I TRIED TURNING SOME FUNGI INTO SENTIENT WARRIORS LAST WEEK. TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT, I'VE BEEN BANISHED FROM ELEVEN COUNTRIES, AND ALSO VENUS, FOR SOME REASON.**

**Okay, I'm back to this, because I love 40K, and I love what Shepard has become too much to stop.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 13

Angels

"So, let me get this straight," Shepard said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "The Dark Angels are here, no explanation given, and have demanded that we all stand down while they do… what, exactly?"

"As you said, there was no explanation given." Dante remained completely still, but Shepard could almost feel the anger pouring off of him in waves. "They _did _say to keep all ground forces at their current positions, which suggests that they plan to go to the surface of Baal itself. This is unacceptable, and I refuse to allow it."

"This has something to do with that infiltrator." All eyes turned to Corax, who stood on the far side of the _Black Necropolis_' strategium. The room was evenly lit, but he still appeared as if he sat in shadow. "Whoever he was, he wears the armor of the First Legion, and he seeks conflict between the Blood Angels and Dark Angels."

Shepard nodded. "He said as much, back on the surface. Could he be a traitor Dark Angel, back from the Horus Heresy?"

At the name of the Arch-Traitor, the holograms of Blaise, Rex, Helmin and Dartan made warding gestures.

Corax shrugged. "It is possible. Many Legions that professed loyalty to the Emperor did have a few rogue elements, though most returned to the fold once the dust settled." At the disbelieving looks he received, he snorted. "In those days, forgiveness _did _sometimes occur in the Legions, so long as one did not swear allegiance to the Dark Gods."

"_Regardless of who he is, we still have a problem." _Dartan scowled as he looked at something on the _Vehemence_'s bridge. _"The fleets of at least five Chapters are here, along with the Rock itself. That is a considerable show of force, and though I am loathe to consider fighting Adeptus Astartes, I must point out that if we _do _fight, we will suffer heavy losses."_

"_The High Admiral is correct in his assumption." _Xem-Beta's optics clicked rapidly as he spoke. _"The Dark Angels and their successors possess technology few, if any, other Chapters can access. Records show that they are also highly secretive, and have been known to abandon allied forces at inopportune times, or even attack them. I calculate an eighty-three-point-two percent chance that any attempt at a ceasefire will result in furthering the Dark Angels' goals."_

"Whatever they want, they will not find it here," Dante growled. "I will show our cousins that the sons of the Angel will not be bullied, especially not in our own home! I have already summoned every successor of my Chapter to Baal, but they will not be here for some time. Saint Shepard, as Regent of Imperium Nihilus, I order your Crusade to defend this system from these intruders!"

For a moment, there was silence; as a Living Saint and leader of an Imperial Crusade, Shepard had the respective authority from both the Ecclesiarchy and the High Lords of Terra to ignore Dante's orders if she wished. If she was considering doing just that, her face revealed none of it; the rest of the war council, even the Primarch, waited for her to speak.

"I hate fumbling in the dark," Shepard said as she reached a decision. "If the Dark Angels were willing to talk, maybe we could let this all slide, but from everything I've seen, their actions are dangerously close to treasonous. However, if we do end up fighting, we will _not _lose the moral high ground.

"Xem-Beta, do whatever you can to monitor the Dark Angels' communications and movements; inform us if you find out anything. While you're at it, if you can do something to cover our forces' landing, I'd appreciate it. Helmin, work with the Blood Angels to incorporate our forces into their defense network. Zandtus, take your Chapter and patrol between the regiments to watch out for teleporter assaults—I don't want a repeat of what happened on Prospero. Temperance, deploy your Sisters among the Militarum regiments, but I want one Preceptory with me at Sanguinius' mausoleum; that's where that infiltrator was, and if the Dark Angels are connected to him, they may try to go there. Dartan, you're under the command of Commander Dante; have the fleet do whatever he says."

She finally realized that she had technically overstepped her authority and nodded at Dante. "Unless you have any objections?"

"None, though I would ask that only you enter my Primarch's resting place, unless it is invaded," he said. "You have my thanks for your support."

"I have a request," Corax said, his tone light, but his eyes suggested that it was more of a demand. "I would ask that a force of Necropolis Hawks join me to infiltrate the Rock itself; we may find answers there, and if necessary, we can disrupt their chain of command."

Xem-Beta turned to the Primarch. _"All records suggest that the Rock cannot be breached."_

Corax made a noise that might have been a laugh. "The Lion was always proud; he would have never let any weakness in his defenses be known. However, I did spend some time thinking on how I would get into his fortresses, and I came up with several ways. My access codes will at least get us inside." He smirked. "Not even my brother could change the base security measures that the Emperor put into place."

Rex made the sign of the Aquila. _"Truly, the God-Emperor's wisdom is unmatched."_

Corax merely raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Moving on—Chapter Master, I require your best infiltration warriors."

Zandtus knelt. "As you command, my Lord. The Tenth Company is yours."

Shepard rose from her chair, as did everyone else who was seated. "We have a plan, so let's get it done. However, the Dark Angels and their successors are still part of the Imperium; if we can stall them long enough, maybe the Blood Angels' reinforcements will make them back off, and we can resolve this without bloodshed. We have enough problems without killing our own side."

Corax nodded. "Agreed, Lady Shepard. We will only engage if the Dark Angels attempt to pass through the defense network, or land troops on the surface."

Shepard closed her eyes. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

…

Within the halls of the Rock, Supreme Grand Master Azrael walked with a measured pace. He was not a man who did anything without careful consideration, and he still harbored doubts about his current course. Invading the home of loyal Space Marines was always a risky venture, but for a Chapter as potent as the Blood Angels… if this business wasn't done right, it could spell the end of the Unforgiven.

If it had only been the Blood Angels, this might have gone smoothly, but the appearance of an entire Crusade Fleet was concerning. It wasn't often that his estimates were off, but his own fleet was now matched in sheer firepower. He wouldn't be surprised if the Crusade had deployed forces to the surface to aid the Blood Angels; with so many eyes, it would be difficult to hide his activities.

Not impossible, but certainly more challenging than he would like.

As always, the risks to the Dark Angels were considerable, and oftentimes, the rewards were negligible. This time, though… this was a prize worth fighting for. Cypher had left a trail, and the Dark Angels had caught on; if fortune was with them, the Lord of the Fallen would lead them to a great many of his comrades.

"Deploy the Ravenwing," he ordered into his vox. "Find our quarry. They will not escape today."

…

"You seem tense, Your Holiness."

Shepard almost laughed. "I can't say I'm looking forward to this fight, Constance."

"If it is the Emperor's will, we shall do what is necessary, nothing more." Canoness Constance Mallis knelt in the dust. Her eyes were closed, and she looked almost tranquil. "No matter what happens, know that we will stand by you."

"I appreciate it, just like every other time."

Constance had led her Preceptory for almost fifty years, and was one of the finest commanders within the Order of Our Martyred Lady. Her black armor was engraved with microscopic script, containing every prayer favored by Saint Katherine, while the inside of her red robes had the name of every Sister who had died under her command stitched in white.

She was far from a beautiful woman; after being struck in the face by a chainaxe—and miraculously surviving—her features were marred by heavy scarring, and her scalp was so badly damaged that her hair never grew back. Still, she was calm, and almost gentle in how she spoke. It was only when battle was joined did she raise her voice or show anger. Shepard had personally witnessed her rip an Ork's head off with her bare hands when her chainsword became too clogged to use effectively. It was during that particular battle that Constance and her Preceptory became Shepard's preferred element among the Sororitas.

"Have you ever met the Dark Angels before, Constance?"

"Only once, during my first battle. I could tell, even then, that they bear a great burden on their souls. However, they were quite ferocious when fighting heretic forces, and refused to move even a single step back."

Shepard sighed. "So they're stubborn. Just once, I'd like to fight someone who gives up easily."

Constance laughed; in contrast to her appearance, her laugh was beautiful, like the tinkling of bells. "Your Holiness, if our enemies ran, we would have to waste precious time and fuel hunting them down. It is far more efficient for them to stand and fight, so that we may destroy them in one fell swoop."

"The worst thing about that is that you're not wrong." Shepard gave her a sidelong glance. "Also, have you been spending time with the Mechanicus? That almost sounded like something Xem-Beta would say."

Constance opened her eyes and got to her feet. "We worship the God-Emperor in different ways, but there are merits to some of their beliefs. And we have found common ground in being thorough with the destruction of our enemies."

"Well, let's hold off on the destruction if we can. If the Dark Angels make it to the surface, I want to take as many of them alive as possible, at least until we can confirm whether or not they've turned traitor." She glanced behind her, at the towering mausoleum. "Also, I don't want to risk damaging this place."

Constance bowed. "Of course, Your Holiness. My Sisters and I will do all we can to protect the resting place of the God-Emperor's beloved son."

Shepard put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Thank you. And that's not just coming from me."

Constance's eyes went wide as she realized what Shepard was saying. "I… I understand, Your Holiness. May I pass that along to the Preceptory?"

"By all means, go ahead." Shepard waited until Constance was gone, and then contacted Dante. "Commander, have there been any developments?"

"_No," _Dante replied. _"The Dark Angels continue to demand that we stand down. I have told them that this will not happen. Their fleet is maintaining its distance, but that could change at any moment."_

"All right, we just need to keep the standoff going until—hold on." Shepard tensed, and she snatched _Liberator _from her hip.

"_Shepard? What is it?"_

"I think I heard something." Shepard's eyes widened when she saw a dozen black blurs hurtling towards her. Her helmet's autosenses helped her make out the image of black-clad Space Marines riding modified bikes. "Dante, do any of your men wear black, and ride bikes?"

"_No." _Shepard heard the dawning shock in his voice. _"Those are Ravenwing warriors! Dark Angels Second Company!"_

"Shit!" Shepard switched to her local vox channel. "All forces, we're under attack by Dark Angel fast-movers!"

"_Your Holiness, please return to our line!" _Constance pleaded. _"You will be cut off!"_

"On my way!" Shepard's wings appeared, and she took to the sky. She barely started flying back to the Sororitas line when a jet-black fighter roared past, firing as it flew. "Whoa! Get back here, motherfucker!"

Despite her power, the Dark Angels fighter was too fast to catch, though a well-timed throw of _Liberator _did cut a groove in one of its wings. Bolts of plasma hissed through the air as the Ravenwing Black Knights fired their plasma talons at her, but the bikers were forced to retreat when a unit of Retributors jumped out of their Immolator transport before it finished stopping and threw waves of fire from their heavy flamers.

"So much for ending this peacefully," Shepard said as she landed next to Constance and the Alexian Guard. "Sorry for not bringing you with me, ladies; I didn't think they'd sneak past the fleet."

One of the Zephyrim shook her head. "We should have insisted we stay with you, Your Holiness."

Shepard shrugged. "Lesson learned for all of us, I suppose." She turned to Constance. "Pull our defenses back to the mausoleum entrance. If they managed to get that kind of hardware to the surface, I don't want to take any chances."

Constance nodded grimly, and then put on her helm. "Sisters, the Dark Angels have fired upon the Living Saint! They have forsaken their oaths, and now seek entrance to the Angel's resting place! Defend the mausoleum with your lives, and burn these traitors to the bone!"

"It shall be done!" After shouting the Crusade's battle-cry, the Sororitas readied bolters, flamers, and melta weaponry.

A pair of Exorcist tanks—a strange hybrid of weaponized pipe organ and Rhino chassis—rumbled forward, just as the black-painted interceptor returned for a strafing run. Though not designed to combat air forces, both tanks played dolorous notes as they fired a cluster of missiles. Most missed, but two struck true; the first blew off part of the fighter's tail, while the second sheared off a wing. It spiraled crazily through the air and crashed a few dozen meters away from Shepard's position.

There were no cheers from the defenders; if the Dark Angels hadn't actually turned traitor, then this was a tragedy in the making.

Even if Shepard had been in the mood to celebrate, there was no time. The Ravenwing was there in force; not just their Black Knights, but also many of their less veteran brothers drove at near-reckless speeds from several directions.

Shepard decided to try one last time to stop this war before it started, and broadcast on an open channel. "Attention, Dark Angel forces—this is Saint Alexia Shepard, of the Shepard Crusade. You are attacking loyal Imperial servants; I repeat, you are attacking friendly forces! For the love of the Emperor, stand down!"

If any of the Ravenwing considered turning back, they didn't show it. As soon as they came within range, they opened fire; plasma, grenades and bolter-fire ripped into the Sororitas. Dozens of Sisters fell, and though their armor protected some, others would never fight again.

At that point, any forgiveness Shepard might have had in her was gone; loyal or not, the Dark Angels had just killed _her _people.

"Drop the bastards," she ordered curtly.

Hundreds of bolters fired, followed by the high-pitched scream of multi-meltas and heavier ordnance. Most of the Ravenwing were able to avoid the fusillade, but two bikers tumbled and crashed.

Rather than try to whittle down the Sisters with hit-and-run tactics, the Ravenwing formed up into a thin wedge and charged straight at them. The speeds they employed were so great that only a few of the more veteran Sisters could hit them with flamers; even so, the Astartes' power armor protected them from the worst of the fire.

"They're headed for the mausoleum!" Shepard took to the air. "Constance, we'll buy you some time, but you have to catch up, or this is going to get even worse!"

Constance raised her chainsword. "It shall be done!"

…

Now aboard his own ship, Dante was a flurry of activity. Over a thousand years of experience was put to work, organizing both the ground forces and matching the Dark Angels fleet move for move. Their ships had started maneuvering, looking for any weakness in the defenders, but with the Shepard Crusade bolstering their numbers, such an opening was less likely.

When word spread that the Dark Angels had not only landed forces on Baal undetected, but were putting Sanguinius' body in danger, the Blood Angels in space had pleaded to land and hunt them down. With great reluctance, Dante had denied them; he suspected that the Dark Angels were only attacking the mausoleum because they were looking for the infiltrator, and that Sanguinius' body was not their objective.

More reports started coming in; elements of the Ravenwing were spotted all over the planet, but if the numbers were accurate, there were far too many for just the Dark Angels Chapter. It appeared that the successor Chapters truly were united behind their founders' efforts. He had hoped that one or more of them would be less inclined to follow the Dark Angels so willingly, but that hope had been in vain.

"Any sign of our brothers?" he asked.

One of the bridge crew shook his head. "No, my Lord; the Flesh Tearers are several hours away at the earliest, and the Angels Encarmine cannot give an accurate estimate because of Warp turbulence."

Dante nearly curse aloud; those two Chapters had been the closest, and their ferocity would have certainly turned the tide of battle. Instead, he had his depleted Chapter, an Imperial Crusade that included a full Chapter… and a Primarch.

Behind his mask, Dante almost smiled. _Perhaps things are not as dire as I first thought._

Suddenly, klaxons blared as ships emerged from the Warp, directly behind the Dark Angels fleet. The ships were too far away for Dante to recognize by sight, but he hoped that they weren't more Dark Angel successors.

"My Lord!" The same bridge officer stood and turned to him with an expression of shock. "We're receiving a transmission from the new arrivals; the command ship claims to be the _Star of Grief_!"

"That… that is impossible." Dante's hands clenched into fists. "Put it through."

A moment later, the vox screeched, and then a voice came through. It was tired and worn, but with an inherent nobility that all sons of Sanguinius could recognize.

"_This is Chapter Master Malakim Phoros of the Lamenters. We have received your call for aid, Commander Dante. How may we be of assistance?"_

…

"This is a surprise," Corax murmured. "Who are these newcomers, and why do they remind me of the Imperial Fists?"

Captain Loronin, leader of the Tenth Company, frowned as he looked through the viewport. "I believe they are the Lamenters, Lord Corax. Successors of the Blood Angels—Twenty-First Founding, if I am not mistaken. I don't know much about them, save for that they have suffered grave misfortune, and that they were sentenced to a crusade of penance."

"Well, they have caught the Dark Angels by surprise; we will have no better chance than this."

The Necropolis Hawks might not have been as inclined towards stealth as their founding Chapter, but that did not mean they were any less capable than their Raven Guard brethren. The Overlord transport they rode in had been specially modified to be as close to undetectable as possible. Corax was impressed that such a large craft could do that, but Captain Loronin had admitted that the Mechanicus elements of the Shepard Crusade had helped take it beyond even what the Necropolis Hawks were capable of.

The Overlord flew through the void with minimal thrust, carefully maneuvering towards the Rock. Corax did not know what had happened to Jonson's homeworld, but Caliban must have been devastated for its fortress monastery to be flying through space.

It had been many centuries since Corax had thought of the First Legion's Primarch, but it was rapidly coming back to him. While he had never visited Caliban itself, he _had _studied the fortresses the Lion had built, and they all kept to a certain theme. It wouldn't be perfect, but he had a good idea of how to navigate the Rock.

What was more concerning to him, though he didn't voice it, were these new Astartes. They reminded him so much of his failed Raptor Project—they were larger and stronger, and what little time he'd had to learn about these Primaris Marines suggested that they were a bridge between Astartes and Custodes. Perhaps the Primaris Marines were a successful version of what he had tried to create.

"We will be ready to dock in ten minutes," Loronin reported. "Tenth Company, ready yourselves; today, you fight alongside our Primarch!"

Suppressed bolter variants were checked and rechecked; brothers within squads gave each other a last-minute inspection, or shared cynical jokes. It was almost relaxing to see his gene-sons acting so human.

Here he was, on an unfamiliar craft, surrounded by familiar-yet-not warriors, with weapons and armor he didn't recognize. And yet, he was about to begin an infiltration mission; in that regard, he was home.

Finally, the Overlord shuddered as it clamped onto the outside of the Rock's hangar. Corax slipped on his helm and waited for his armor to pressurize; once it did, he addressed his sons.

"Today is not a day for glory, but a day of shame for all of us," he said. "Once again, Astartes who should be fighting shoulder to shoulder draw blades against each other. During the Great Crusade, many of the Legions saw battle as a loud and chaotic affair, but that was not the way of the Nineteenth. Ours is the way of the shadow, of the silent kill; we win before the enemy even knows that we are there. We are the efficient assassins, the shadow-killers, made for this purpose by the Emperor Himself. You will come with me, and we will remind the sons of the Lion why even Astartes should fear the darkness."

The Necropolis Hawks didn't cheer, not that Corax expected them to; this was a somber mission, one that would only weaken the Imperium further, but it had to be done.

"You have all been given your assignments," he continued. "Sabotage, avoid prolonged combat, and eliminate high-value targets. I will find the so-called Supreme Grand Master and… _discuss _this matter with him."

…

Shepard landed among the Black Knights as they slowed to a halt outside the mausoleum. The Dark Angels detected her, but filled with rage as she was, Shepard couldn't be stopped. The first Black Knight had his chest caved in by _Liberator_, while another lost his arm to her weapon's bladed side. It was only when the Black Knights' leader charged her that she froze.

For a moment, the black armor and war-pick shifted; instead of a transhuman warrior, she saw an older man, a mortal, walking towards her with a smile on his face. Gregor lifted his war-pick in salute—

Except it wasn't a salute, but an attack; Shepard's sight returned to normal, just as one of the Alexian Guard brought her sword into the Black Knight's side. Shepard snapped back into action, and swung _Liberator _into the Space Marine's head, killing him instantly.

_I can't believe that happened, _she berated herself. _I miss him every day, but I've never had a flashback like that. Come on, Alexia, focus!_

The sound of gunfire within the mausoleum made her heart skip a beat. "Alexian Guard, hold the line! I'm going inside!"

She vaulted over a wounded Space Marine and ran into the mausoleum. There, she saw two Sanguinary Guards on the floor; one was missing his head, and the other had been shredded by hundreds of bolt rounds. She followed the sound of fighting, and saw a three-way battle in front of the Angel's body.

On one side, doing their best to keep Sanguinius' corpse safe, were the surviving Sanguinary Guard. They fought desperately against more dismounted Ravenwing, but the Dark Angels seemed less focused on them, and more on the black-armored infiltrator from before. He darted from shadow to shadow, his twin pistols wounding or killing with every shot. Shepard noticed that he wasn't trying to stay in the fight, but was just driving back anyone who got in his way.

Shepard was moving before she consciously realized what was happening. She fired her bolt pistol at the Space Marine, but only managed a few glancing hits. He looked back at her with contempt as he holstered one pistol and drew the magnificent sword from his back. With a single thrust, he pushed the blade into Sanguinius' casket—not into the body itself, but the machinery that held him in stasis. The field flickered for a moment, and then the backup power supply kicked in, but that moment was all that was needed. A small compartment opened, and he reached inside to pull out a vial of red liquid.

"My thanks," he said with a mocking bow, and when Shepard blinked, he was gone.

Shepard had no time to think about what had happened, because two more Black Knights were charging her. Fueled by her growing anger, she hurled _Liberator _into the chest of one Space Marine, killing him instantly, and then punched the other so hard that he was knocked flat on his back. By the time Shepard recalled her weapon back to her hand, the remaining Sanguinary Guards had finished off the Ravenwing forces.

"Is that all of them?" she asked, and a Blood Angel nodded. "All right, I'm going back outside. Someone tell Commander Dante what happened; I'll be outside, trying to keep the other Dark Angels out."

She hurried outside, but as soon as she saw what awaited her, she froze. Of her loyal Alexian Guard, only four remained alive, and they were all wounded; the rest had been shot or beaten to death. Shepard took a moment to process that; in the years since the Alexian Guard had been founded, they had never taken a single casualty. The worst part was that, rather than die fighting an enemy of the Imperium, they had fallen at the hands of those they should have fought alongside.

By the time she approached the survivors, Shepard was trembling in rage, and it took all of her considerable willpower not to shout.

"Are there any prisoners?" she asked one of the Alexian Guard.

The Zephyrim nodded. "One, Your Holiness. Canoness Mallis has him under guard now."

"Good. I'm going to talk to him." She put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Get your wounds treated, and have your fallen sisters taken somewhere safe."

"Your Holiness, would you not prefer to have a guard with you?"

Shepard forced a smile. "I appreciate it, but you've done enough today. Please, take care of your dead for me; when this is over, I'll make sure they receive every honor."

The surviving Alexian Guard bowed, and then slowly moved their dead to the Preceptory's lines. They left the dead Space Marines in the dirt, and Shepard didn't blame them. She found Constance and a squad of her Celestians—elite Sororitas bodyguards—standing over a wounded Black Knight. The Canoness had her helmet on, but the way she held herself suggested that she was as furious as Shepard felt.

"Your Holiness, please give the order to have this one executed," Constance all but snarled. "I would not suffer this traitor to breathe on this world any longer."

"Oh, I feel the same," Shepard said, "but I want some answers, and by the Emperor, I'm going to get them."

The Black Knight's backpack had been removed, limiting his armor's functions, and each of the Celestians had a storm bolter aimed at his head. He still wasn't much of a threat with his arms severed at the elbow and one leg mangled beyond recognition, but Shepard appreciated the gesture. The Space Marine's helm had also been removed, revealing a scarred face that glared up at her with contempt.

"I'm going to ask you a question," Shepard spat, "and so help me, if you don't answer, I'm going to take my time killing you."

The Black Knight sneered. "Give me a weapon, abomination, and I will give you my answer."

Shepard sneered right back. "With what arms, dumbass?" She reached down and heaved him up to be at eye level. "Why are you here? What did that other Marine, the one with the pistols, want with Sanguinius' blood? What could be so important that you would risk going to war with the Imperium you're supposed to serve?"

For a moment, it seemed like the Space Marine wouldn't answer; instead, he closed his eyes. "Redemption. That is all we seek."

Shepard dropped him to the ground. "If that's the case, then you're doing a terrible job at it. If anything, this seems like a step backwards, doesn't it?"

The question was directed at the Sororitas, but the Space Marine shrugged. "I do not question the orders of the Supreme Grand Master. I only obey."

Shepard bit back a snarl. "He doesn't know anything useful, and I'm not feeling merciful today. Someone kill him; I have a war to end."

As Shepard turned and left, she heard the crack of a bolt round and the grisly chunk of a head exploding. She had never ordered the execution of a prisoner before; even back in the Empire, such a thing would have turned her stomach. But she had looked into the Space Marine's eyes, and she saw the delusion—he had believed that, so long as their original sin was erased, the Dark Angels could be forgiven for everything else.

_No, _she thought fiercely, _you won't._

…

"It is done." Cypher held out the vial to the diminutive creature before him. "The blood of the father of angels."

The Watcher in the Dark shifted in its green robes, but though it said nothing, Cypher seemed to understand. He knelt and held the Lion Sword across his palms.

"The blade of the father of angels." The Watcher opened the vial, and the blood of a demigod was poured across the length of the blade.

"The blood of the dead shall meet the blade of the sleeping," Cypher continued, while more Watchers joined the first. "The ancient pacts are met. The sleeping king shall wake once more."

The blood sizzled, yet there was no heat; the blood crawled across the blade, merging with the metal, until it looked as if it had been forged to be red.

Cypher stood tall and admired the sword for a moment. He then turned to the dozen Watchers in the Dark.

"Take me to my father."

…

Corax was impressed by the layers of security he had to navigate; the Lion had designed his stronghold well, especially since it had survived the destruction of Caliban and could now fly through the void. Were it not for Corax's supernatural gifts of stealth, the internal defenses of the Rock would have killed even him by now.

As he traveled deeper and deeper, he noticed that there were fewer Dark Angels; by now, he had not seen any at all. It was starting to concern him.

_Do the sons of the Lion not travel into this place? If so, why have _more _defenses the further down I go? Something is being guarded here, but I suspect that not even the Dark Angels are aware it exists. If they do, they put too much faith in these unmanned weapons._

Finally, after evading a net of lasers that would have carved him into pieces, Corax was past the defenses. It took him a moment, but the chambers he entered now reminded him of the cells he had once liberated.

This was a prison.

_You and I were never close, brother, _Corax thought, _but if this place was of your design, I will be… upset._

The sound of footsteps caught his attention; for a fraction of a second, far faster than any human mind was capable of thinking, he considered using his wraith-slip to vanish. But his eyes pierced the shadows ahead, and for the first time in millennia, froze in shock.

"How is this possible?" he asked.

With Cypher on one side, and a score of small robed creatures on the other, Lion El'Jonson raised an eyebrow.

"That is a question that has been plaguing my mind as well, brother." The Primarch of the Dark Angels looked around him. "There is much I do not know."

Throughout his self-imposed exile, the Dark Gods had tried to deceive Corax with false images of his brothers—missing, dead, or traitorous. Every time, he had seen through such deception. Now, however, he knew this was no illusion. He took a step forward, and then another, and then he was in front of the Lion, and embraced him.

"It is… good to see you as well, Corvus." Jonson had never been one for emotion, and though his own embrace was awkward, there was genuine warmth as well.

Corax stepped back. "There is much you need to know, brother, but it must wait." He shot Cypher a withering glare—to the Fallen Angel's credit, he looked down, unable to meet the Raven Lord's gaze. "For now, I need your help to end a war."

…

"Intruders detected on the eighteenth level," a serf reported. "Two cogitators have been destroyed, nine Astartes reported wounded, five more dead on that level alone."

"We have calculated that at least one hundred enemy Astartes have boarded the Rock," another serf said. "A full company; they bear the heraldry of the Necropolis Hawks."

Azrael's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "Have all Tactical and Intercessor squads hold their positions at every access point. Divert Reiver squads and two Deathwing squads from the planetary assault and begin seek-and-destroy pattern epsilon."

The attack on Baal had been a mistake, that much was clear. With the unexpected arrival of the Lamenters in their rear, the combined Dark Angels fleet had been thrown into disarray long enough for the Shepard Crusade and defending Blood Angels ships to outmaneuver them. Five of his ships had been disabled in less than an hour, including a Battle Barge of the Guardians of the Covenant. It was only a matter of time before his fleet was defeated—considerably less, if more Blood Angel successors showed up, which was likely.

He had no choice but to order the withdrawal. It would take significant influence to get this incident overlooked, and he would have to order all Unforgiven Chapters to avoid the sons of the Angel for at least a few centuries.

The worst part about it all was that it was all for nothing. Some of his Ravenwing had tracked the Lord of the Fallen to the resting place of Sanguinius—they had forced their way through the Sororitas guarding it, but he had lost contact since. If the reports of increased aggression on the part of the defenders were any indication, something must have happened that was blamed on the Dark Angels.

_Another sin you have committed while wearing the armor of the First Legion, _Azrael thought bitterly. _I take no pleasure in hunting down any of the Fallen, but I shall smile when you are finally brought to me in chains, Cypher._

"My Lord!" Breaking protocol, a third serf stood up and faced him directly. "I don't understand how, but I am registering forces outside the command room!"

Azrael whirled and drew his sword, just as the door slid open—not blown open by explosives, but opened freely.

_That is impossible, _he thought. _That door was sealed with my own codes! No one has the authority to override them, except—_

"Stand down, my son." Before Azrael fully registered the voice, he was on one knee, his sword pointed tip-first into the floor. He looked up to see two figures of legend.

One wore armor of black, battered by age and constant fighting. His face was haggard, but there was a newfound vitality there—he was a warrior who had rediscovered his purpose.

The other was every inch the noble monarch, and for all the charisma the first exuded, the second had a connection to Azrael that went beyond appearance. He wore black armor as well, but unlike his brother, his armor glistened, where the other's sank into every shadow. His pauldrons were sculpted to look like lions, while every edge was gilded.

Only his head was exposed, revealing a face that betrayed no emotion, save for his eyes; they took in every detail, passing it to a mind that was beyond even Azrael's comprehension. At his side was a magnificent sword—a golden hilt and a red blade that, even unpowered, was capable of killing an Astartes with a single blow.

For a moment that stretched on for an eternity, Azrael stared at his gene-father. Behind him, the serfs had all prostrated themselves. The moment only ended when a third person chuckled.

"Yes, two Primarchs _can _be a bit overwhelming, I suppose."

Azrael's gaze snapped to the sight of his quarry. Without thinking, he jumped to his feet, drew his sword, and charged.

"My Lord, step back!" he shouted. "He is of the Fallen, and must be defeated!"

Before Azrael could blink, his sword was knocked from his hands, and he was on his back. It was neither Corax nor Cypher who had disarmed him, but the Lion, who gently rested the tip of his sword against his breastplate.

"This one, the one you call Cypher, has much to answer for," Jonson said calmly. "He has willingly submitted himself to his fate, for he has achieved his aim—to awaken me from my long slumber. That must wait, however; my brother has informed me of your reckless attack upon the home of the Ninth Legion, which I demand be stopped."

As if to punctuate his words, the Rock shuddered as torpedoes exploded against its void shields.

Azrael glared one more time at Cypher, who smirked under his hood, before getting to his feet. "As you command, my Lord."

He made his way to the vox terminal and sent his authorization codes to the fleet before speaking on an open channel.

"All ships, all sons of the Lion, this is Supreme Grand Master Azrael, Chapter Master of the Dark Angels. My brothers… stand down. This battle is over. To all defenders of Baal… we surrender.

"Commander Dante, I would speak to you in person." Azrael glanced over his shoulder at his Primarch. "There is much to discuss."

**So… yeah. I brought Lion El'Jonson back. I'm sure you all have quite a few questions, but you'll have to wait until the next chapter before you get answers. But, yes, Shepard came to Baal to find one Primarch, and ended up with two. That's a bargain if I've ever seen one.**

**Also, the Lamenters showed up. They are my favorite Blood Angels successor, bar none. If their heraldry wasn't so damn hard to paint, I probably would have started an army of them. If you don't know who they are, I encourage you to look them up, because they are some of the most badass Space Marines around, and that's saying something. Oh, and I made up the name of the _Star of Grief_, since there is precious little on the Lamenters' fleet, and the few named ships mentioned were all destroyed or stolen by the Minotaurs.**

**As always, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile) or on Amazon, either as an eBook or physical copy. If you like big science fiction battles, I think you'll like my book. Also, the sequel will be coming out soon!**

**You can also support me on P-atreon by following the other link in my profile. Doing so brings me just a little bit closer to not having as much stress in my life. Less stress means more writing, which is good for everyone.**

**Here's a thank-you to the people who have helped lower my stress levels:**

**Serious Muffins:**** jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, Red Bard, Ultimatrix10**

**Incredible Muffins:**** RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225, Brian McGloughlin**

**Ultra Muffins:**** Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: The Saint and the Raven mediate between angels, and the Awakened King joins his brother's quest to meet the Avenging Son.**

**While one Muffin remains free, we remain Unforgiven.**


	14. Brothers

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. CURRENTLY HIDING UNDER MY BED FROM THE INQUISITION, PLEASE SEND—OHGODTHEYFOUNDME!**

**I'm back from reeducation. The Inquisition is a wonderful group of people. I love the God-Emperor, and am unworthy of any special favors. It is my duty to report on His champion, Saint Shepard.**

**Why does my skull hurt?**

Star-Bound

Chapter 14

Brothers

Shepard watched as artillery pounded the Unforgiven base. Her face was impassive, save for the occasional frown when a shell missed its intended target.

"They're being stubborn," she said, her voice barely heard over the roar of the Basilisks. The bombardment of the base—belonging to a successor Chapter called the Guardians of the Covenant—had been going on for almost an hour, but for the last twenty minutes, there had been no return fire. Shepard, however, was not feeling merciful, and ordered her soldiers to be extra-thorough.

"They're Dark Angels," Duchess-Colonel Riona replied. "If even half of the stories I've heard are true, they and their successors don't stop until they complete their mission, or they're dead."

"I just wish they'd be stubborn somewhere else, instead of starting wars with their own side." Shepard didn't even blink as the Guardians' armorium exploded with such force that she felt the shockwave even from her position. "That should be enough of a direct bombardment. Keep up the pressure until our infantry and tanks move in. I just hope this commander will finally see sense and surrender."

Riona smiled. "One can only hope, Your Holiness. Whatever the outcome, the First-Blooded will see it through."

Shepard rolled her eyes fondly at the nickname. The five regiments that had served with her on Prospero, the first full elements of the Crusade to fight with her on the ground, had been called the First-Blooded. They had an informal marking on their uniforms—five red teardrops; one for each regiment—that earned them instant respect with the other Militarum regiments, though new recruits weren't allowed to have them until they fought in a battle. Officially, it was against regulations, but Shepard allowed it, so no one had raised more than a token protest.

Of the many forces within her Crusade, Shepard always had the First-Blooded deployed together. She saw them as something of a good-luck charm, but also as a reminder for the rest of the Crusade—that as long as they all worked together, they would always be victorious. Since the First-Blooded had never even needed to retreat, it was a lesson that was often reinforced.

Under the cover of the artillery, Shepard led the tanks and infantry on a direct assault of the Astartes base. A few dozen Guardians of the Covenant fired as they advanced, but with four entire regiments marching straight at them, there was little they could do to stop the tide of flesh and steel. Within twenty minutes, what was left of the base was overrun, and the remaining Guardians called for a truce.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't order my men to gun you down," Shepard said to the Guardians' commanding officer, a Lieutenant.

The Guardians of the Covenant had a wildly different color scheme than their progenitor Chapter. Their armor was silver, with white crossed swords over a field of black on their shoulders. Over their armor, they wore dark red robes.

In this case, the robes of the Lieutenant were shredded and burned; his armor was scorched and damaged from shrapnel, and he walked with a limp. To his credit, he had dropped his weapons and held out his hands.

"I must confess, you have every right to execute us," the Lieutenant said. "I know little of why we are attacking this place. Only the Company Masters would know, but to my eyes, we are attacking loyal servants of the Imperium. It disgusts me."

"At least you're honest." Shepard didn't ask why the Space Marine didn't protest the orders; while that was permitted in the Systems Alliance, such things got you killed in the Imperium. "All right, consider yourselves prisoners. Surrender your weapons and equipment, and we'll treat your wounded as best we can." When the Lieutenant hesitated, Shepard rolled her eyes. "I promise, we'll only store your stuff. When this is over, everything will be returned to you."

Seeing as how the Guardians of the Covenant had no way out at that point, they all agreed. Shepard called in the closest Blood Angel forces and informed them of the situation; they told her that the captives would be taken into custody.

All across Baal, similar battles were taking place. While the Unforgiven were fast, the Blood Angels knew their home, and had placed the Shepard Crusade in the best places to counter any incursion. Losses had been high at first, especially among the Militarum, but once word spread of Shepard's anger, flagging resolve had turned to outrage. Men and women fought with everything they had against the enemy that had dared earn their beloved Saint's wrath. Unable to break through the many cordons established by the Blood Angels, the Dark Angels and their successors had been forced to consolidate, which gave the defenders nice, juicy targets for counterattacks.

"Saint Shepard!" A vox operator from the Eleventh Vigilant Guard ran over and bowed. "We're receiving a transmission on an open frequency. It appears to be on a loop."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "All right, let's hear it."

The man handed over his vox, and Shepard held the receiver to her ear.

"_All ships, all sons of the Lion, this is Supreme Grand Master Azrael, Chapter Master of the Dark Angels. My brothers… stand down. This battle is over. To all defenders of Baal… we surrender. Commander Dante, I would speak to you in person… there is much to discuss."_

"Well, damn," Shepard said mildly. "Call everyone, I guess the war's over."

The Lieutenant, whose enhanced hearing had caught the message, tilted his head. "I suppose so. What happens to my brothers and I?"

Shepard gave him a dry look. "You heard him, he said you surrendered. That means you're still my prisoners until I say otherwise. You stay here, and you behave while I go see what's happening—if I find out you tried to so much as give my boys and girls a dirty look, I will personally have you launched into the sun."

Colonel Klinner, who had been nearby, chuckled dryly. "She'll do it, too. I watched it happen to an Aeldari that shot her friend."

The Space Marine was wearing his helmet, but the way he leaned away from Shepard was enough to tell her that he believed her.

_Good, _she thought as she signaled for a transport. _Maybe I've found something that actually scares a Space Marine._

…

It took almost six hours for hostilities to cease in the Baal system. By then, four more Blood Angels successor Chapters had arrived to help take the Unforgiven fleet into custody. Leaders from all Chapters, as well as senior members of the Shepard Crusade were called to the Blood Angels fortress-monastery to discuss recent developments.

"You seem tense," Shepard commented as she sat down next to Blaise. "I mean, more tense than usual."

Blaise rested her chin on her clenched left fist—a silver bionic replacement for the hand she'd lost to an Aeldari sniper two years ago, whom Shepard had shunted into space upon capture—and scowled.

"I am uncomfortable in the presence of the Flesh Tearers."

Shepard glanced at Blaise, and then at Gabriel Seth, Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers. He wasn't a Primaris Marine, and he was a good head shorter than a Primaris Captain of the same Chapter that stood next to him. His armor, a deeper red with black shoulders and backpack, was covered in damage, and had clearly been repaired only to the point of functionality. Only his Chapter symbol, a drop of blood over a white circular sawblade, was clean. His shaved head was riddled with scars, and he carried a chainsword that was nearly as long as he was tall; the weapon was covered in dried blood.

"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but… why?"

"The Flesh Tearers are known to fall into berserker rages; during one such event, they slaughtered many of my sisters. I was not there, but I know the tale. When one of my sisters speaks ill of the Astartes, they are probably thinking of the Flesh Tearers."

Shepard gently bumped her shoulder against Blaise's. "One enemy at a time, Temperance; right now, we're angry at the Dark Angels."

"Of course." Blaise sat up. "Zandtus is here."

Shepard blinked; sure enough, the Chapter Master had arrived. "I turned away for ten seconds! How the hell does he do that?"

"He _is _a gene-son of Lord Corax," Blaise pointed out, with a hint of a smirk.

"Right." The door opened again, admitting a Space Marine that Shepard didn't recognize. "Who's that?"

Blaise frowned as she tried to remember. "If I am not mistaken, that is Malakim Phoros, Chapter Master of the Lamenters."

Shepard remembered that the Lamenters had appeared early in the battle, but she didn't recall them fighting on the ground. Since they hadn't, the state of Phoros' armor surprised her; his yellow plate was beautifully crafted, but it was scarred and marked by many battles. His Chapter's symbol, a bleeding heart over a black-and-white checkered field, was stained by smoke and dried blood.

The story of the Lamenters was a tragic one. Shepard had read about the Badab War, and how the Lamenters, a Chapter long plagued by misfortune and tragedy, had been unwitting pawns in service of a mad tyrant. Though they had fought against loyal Imperial elements, they had been given a chance to earn redemption through a century-long penitent crusade. That had been a long time ago, and though they had earned their place back in the Imperium's fold, they were still rebuilding, even with Primaris reinforcements.

Something Shepard noticed, though, was that Phoros _felt_ different than anyone else in the room. While she was not a psyker, her powers had grown to the point that she could sense the influence of Chaos. At first, this had her on edge, but she realized that Phoros wasn't emanating the corruption; instead, it felt like it had been draped over him.

"Temperance, remind me to talk to him later," she muttered.

Blaise glanced between Shepard and Phoros. "Are you planning on adding some wayward souls to your Crusade, Your Holiness?"

"I wouldn't say no to more Space Marines," Shepard admitted, "but it feels like something is affecting him. Maybe I can help."

Blaise's organic eye narrowed, and then went wide at the unspoken implication. "If you wish to bless him, or even his entire Chapter, I am sure he would be grateful."

"That's not why I do these things." Shepard turned to the door again. "Okay, where the hell is Dante? He should have been here by now."

Seth, who had heard her last comment, chuckled; it sounded like broken bones scraping against each other. "You'll find that he prefers some drama to his entrances after a crisis. That, or he wants us all to get some rest without actually saying as much."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "There's plenty of time to rest later; right now, there's still work to do."

Seth grinned at her; it wasn't an attractive smile. "I think I like you, little Saint." His smile vanished as the door opened again. "Finally, he's here."

Shepard shared Seth's impatience, but now that Dante had arrived, maybe they could finally get things settled. She was surprised to see a Dark Angel—almost certainly Azrael—accompanying Dante; the Supreme Grand Master was unarmed, but he wasn't restrained, nor was he escorted by guards. Then again, even if he _had _been armed, he faced experienced warriors, and was badly outnumbered.

What Shepard hadn't expected was Corax to come in behind Azrael, along with the hooded Space Marine from before, and—

For a moment, everything froze; not because everyone else was as shocked as she was, though that was true, but because a familiar voice shot through her mind.

_That is impossible. I could not sense his presence. I thought he was dead._

Shocked whispers broke out as not one, but _two _living Primarchs stepped through the door. Corax looked the same as the last time Shepard had seen him, but Lion El'Jonson was another matter. Shepard didn't often use the word 'glorious' to describe anything, but Jonson was every inch the commanding monarch. There was confidence in his eyes, but as they scanned the room, Shepard saw calculating assessment of every person present. She wondered what conclusions he came to about her.

"Many of you likely know the identities of our honored guests, but I shall announce them anyway." Dante bowed to the Primarchs. "Lord Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard. Lord Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels. Welcome to Baal."

Jonson nodded, a little stiffly. "Would that we had met in less dire times, nephew." He turned to the rest of the conclave. "While I have yet to catch up on everything I have missed these last ten millennia, I _have _been informed of the actions my sons have taken. It appears that they have been… misinformed."

Azrael, who had remained stoic until now, flinched. "My Lord, I—"

"—will be silent," Jonson commanded; his tone was calm, almost kind, but Azrael shut his mouth so fast that Shepard heard his teeth clack together. "My Legion—no, my Chapter and their successors have committed a grave wrong to the descendants of the Ninth Legion. For that, I must apologize; it seems that my sons took my desire for secrecy and increased it to the level of absurdity."

Jonson continued to speak; his words were spoken dryly, yet he told a story that had everyone present enthralled. After the Horus Heresy, Jonson and his many Dark Angels had returned to their homeworld of Caliban, only to be fired upon by their own defenses. The one responsible for the treachery had been a man elevated to a level as close to an Astartes as was possible for one his age—a man named Luther. Once, Luther had been Jonson's foster father and closest friend, but he had been overwhelmed by jealousy and the temptations of Chaos, and the First Legion went to war with itself.

During a furious battle that resulted in Caliban itself falling apart, Jonson and Luther met in personal combat. Empowered as he was by Chaos, Luther had defeated the Primarch, but at the last moment, was overwhelmed by regret, and Jonson struck him down.

"After that, everything turned to darkness," Jonson concluded. "Apparently, I had been tended to by… associates of my Legion, who hid my survival from my sons. For ten thousand years, I was near death, but this one," he gestured to Cypher, "has been making plans to restore me to the waking world."

Dante crossed his arms. "With all due respect, Lord Jonson, but why did his plans involve nearly desecrating the resting place of Sanguinius?"

The Lion paused, and then narrowed his eyes at Cypher, who almost looked sheepish. "There was a prophecy. The Sleeping King would be awakened when stabbed by his own blade, coated in the blood of the Lord of Angels."

Shepard, who hated prophecies, couldn't restrain herself any longer. "And it took you ten thousand years to get that done? And for that matter, why did you shoot me?"

Again, Cypher almost looked apologetic. "I only discovered the prophecy recently. I have tried to infiltrate the Angel's resting place before, but the security was beyond even my abilities. The arrival of Lord Corax and you, Saint Shepard, gave me the opening I needed. And infiltrating the Rock is very difficult; I needed an opening there, as well. Drawing the Blood Angels and the Dark Angels into conflict was my best chance to revive my Primarch."

"That doesn't explain why you shot me."

Cypher shrugged. "You were in my way."

The leaders of the Shepard Crusade present—Blaise, Zandtus and Helmin—bristled at the response, but Jonson held up his hand.

"Peace, please. My son has done… questionable things, to put it mildly. He accepts that, and will receive his due punishment in time. For now, however, I need him alive; he is the key to putting an end to my traitorous sons, and the man who I once called my closest friend."

Shepard frowned. "Wait, Luther is still alive? How?"

"I do not pretend to know the effects of the Warp," Jonson said. "Perhaps the gods he once served saw fit to curse him with everlasting life, or perhaps it is some mutation that afflicts him. Whatever the cause, he lives, and he gathers many thousands of Fallen to his banner.

"However, I will not blindly rush into battle as I did before." Jonson shared an understanding nod with Corax. "The Imperium faces its darkest hour, and only one Primarch stands, doing the duty that should have been shared by twenty. Corax and I will journey to Macragge; we must speak with our brother, and learn of our roles in this new age. We will also call together the many Chapters that have been birthed since the end of the Horus Heresy, concentrating our forces and levying them against the most critical of targets." He then nodded at Dante. "Commander, my brother has told me of his oath to aid you when he has gathered his sons. I pledge to do the same, as much as I am able; consider it penance, on behalf of my sons."

Dante knelt. "Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and I thank you both."

For the first time, Jonson smiled; it was not necessarily a happy smile, but one that came from the satisfaction of achieving a goal.

Shepard almost laughed; from what she could tell, this was as close to a happy resolution as possible in a situation like this. Her good mood died when she saw the unhappy looks from several present—Azrael looked like he'd just swallowed something particularly unpleasant, and Seth was clenching his hands in a way that suggested he was preparing to strangle the Dark Angel Chapter Master. Considering how royally the Dark Angels had screwed up, and were getting off relatively easily, she didn't blame him.

_Time to see if I'm still good at being a peacemaker, _she thought. _Well, maybe 'peace' is stretching it a bit. I'll settle for getting the Dark Angels out of here ASAP._

"Now that this is settled," she said, keeping her tone mild to avoid setting off some of the more explosive personalities present, "the sooner we visit Deliverance, and then Lord Guilliman, the better."

Corax turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "I did not know you intended to join us, Saint Shepard."

Shepard noticed that Jonson was giving her a curious glance, but she ignored it for the moment. "My forces have been through two campaigns recently. We need to repair our ships, vehicles and equipment, and get reinforcements. Going to Ultramar solves several problems at once."

Corax nodded. "In that case, we would be honored to have you join us."

Jonson gave his brother a calculating glance, but nodded. "Agreed."

With that done, everyone prepared to move out, but then paused when Dante spoke. "Supreme Grand Master."

Azrael turned to face the Chapter Master, only to receive a thunderous backhand that sent him tumbling to the floor. Judging by the crack Shepard heard, Azrael's jaw was broken; she didn't find it in her heart to pity him.

"That is my warning to you," Dante said, his tone completely even. "If you ever come into this system without my permission or invitation, I will kill you. I do not care if you come with the orders of a Primarch; if I say you cannot enter, and you try anyway, I will declare you, your Chapter, and every one of your successors to be enemies of Imperium Nihilus. Am I understood?"

Azrael spat out blood, rose to his feet, and nodded. The other Blood Angel representatives—whether from the Chapter or successors—made noises of approval. Seth even laughed.

"If that is all," Jonson said, in a tone that suggested that he would take no more abuse of his gene-son, "we should be on our way."

…

"Chapter Master Phoros?" Shepard called out as she walked at a swift pace after the Lamenter. "Could I speak to you?"

The Chapter Master turned and smiled wryly. "Saint Shepard, it is an honor. While my brothers and I have stayed at the periphery of recent events, we have heard of your Crusade and its noble goals."

"And I've heard plenty about your Chapter." Phoros' expression darkened, but Shepard kept going. "I understand that you made a mistake. I wasn't there, so I don't know why people did what they did; I can't judge you for that. In my opinion, you've more than paid for your crimes, and anyone who says otherwise had better give a damn good reason. But I'm getting off-topic.

"What I meant when I said I've heard plenty is how often your Chapter has done everything to save innocent lives, even at the cost of your own. I'm not one for self-sacrifice, but putting your life on the line for the innocent is a noble act, and I wanted to acknowledge that."

Phoros' only sign of surprise was a series of rapid blinks. "That is… humbling to hear, Saint Shepard. On behalf of my brothers, I thank you."

Shepard let out a sigh, and then a grin. "Oh, good. Does that mean I can stop being all formal now? Because that was physically painful."

Phoros chuckled. "I was not going to say anything, but it felt like those words didn't belong in your mouth."

"I've had practice over the last few…" Shepard was going to say 'years', but she remembered how often she'd had to make speeches before and after her retirement in the Empire. "Decades. It's been decades, and I still hate it."

"It has been centuries for me, and I also find it difficult," Phoros admitted. "Strategy, negotiation, even words of encouragement are easy, but formal speaking to those I do not know? I have faced the worst this galaxy has to offer, and _that_ still fills me with dread."

The two shared a brief laugh, until Shepard leaned around him and looked at the battered Thunderhawk waiting to take Phoros back to his fleet. "Leaving so soon? You just got here."

Phoros' good cheer faded, and he turned away. "My Chapter has long had a… poor relationship with the other sons of the Angel. It is better for all involved if we take our leave."

"Is it because you're cursed?" Phoros whirled back to face her at her frank words. "It is, isn't it?"

"What… what are you talking about?"

Shepard shrugged. "I can… sense it, I guess. You have this weird energy wrapped around you, and I can sense it on the Lamenters in that gunship—oh, hell, I can sense it on the gunship itself."

The tiniest beads of sweat appeared on Phoros' brow. "Are we corrupted?"

"No, I don't think so," Shepard said. "More like something is screwing with you. If you like, I could try fixing it." At Phoros' disbelieving stare, she smiled. "Ask Marneus Calgar if you think I'm lying. I literally beat the Chaos out of a guy, and a few years ago, I kept a Space Marine from getting corrupted by Chaos energies."

Phoros was quiet for a long moment. "I would speak with my brothers about this offer first."

"Fine by me." Shepard shrugged again. "My fleet is leaving with the Dark Angels in two days; if you take longer, it might be a while before we meet up with you again."

"I will have an answer by tomorrow," Phoros decided.

Shepard smiled brightly. "Great! Hey, if you want, you'd be more than welcome to join up with us after we're done. Just a thought. We could always use more Space Marines."

With her piece said, Shepard turned and left, leaving Phoros with much to think about.

…

"_Two sons, instead of one." Revelation chuckled as he prodded the fire. "I had long thought the Lion dead. I am glad to be wrong."_

_Shepard grinned. "Would the Ecclesiarchy call me a heretic if I told them about that?"_

"_It would likely become a long debate, and a waste of time." Revelation grimaced. "Even now, I detest how my dream of the Imperium has been twisted by religion. I fought to end humanity's dependence on false gods, and forge a secular Imperium driven by truth and logic."_

_Shepard nodded. "A long time ago, I would have agreed with you. I saw truth in the physical world; the only faith I had was in other people."_

"_What changed?"_

"_A simple truth." Shepard took a stick and slowly bent it. "The human spirit is able to stay strong in the face of a lot, but our resolve is not infinite. Eventually, with enough stress or trauma…" She snapped the twig in her hands and tossed the pieces into the fire. "We break. When we have nothing left within, we turn to something without. Like it or not, you provided that 'something', especially when humanity was faced with…" Rather than say the word and draw unwanted attention, Shepard gestured to the forest, where wolves occasionally howled._

_Revelation sighed. "Perhaps I overestimated humanity. Perhaps I believed that everyone could be as strong as I am. In the face of so many horrors, the weak will turn to anything that sees them through the night."_

"_You're not giving us enough credit," Shepard argued. "Yeah, blind faith can be annoying, but I've seen it give courage to soldiers who would have run away, and not only stand up and fight, but win._

"_You never wanted to be seen as a god, I get it. But you really don't have a choice in the matter at this point—you're immortal, you have powers unlike any other human, and you protect us from horrors that defy all explanation. Also, once you've got a state religion in your name, you _really _don't have a choice."_

_Revelation sighed again. "I know all this. I had just hoped that you would prove me wrong again; you have done so before."_

_Shepard smirked. "Sorry, you're asking the wrong woman; I _found _my god, and He ain't you."_

"_Do you think your Sigmar felt the same as I do?"_

"_I can't say, since he didn't turn into a psychic lighthouse that eats souls." Shepard gagged. "Gross, by the way."_

_Revelation nodded wearily. "I understand. For now, I suggest you return to the waking world; speak to the Avenging Son, and watch his reunion with his brothers. After that, I will give you another task."_

"_Yeah, okay." Shepard stood up and winced as her bones ached. She gestured to the fire. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask—can I make s'mores on this thing?"_

_Revelation threw back his head and laughed as everything went dark._

…

Shepard's eyes opened and she smiled. "Hey, that time didn't suck as much. Go me."

After wiping off the sweat on her brow, she left her quarters aboard the _Vehemence_. Waiting outside were two of her Alexian Guards—the least injured, who had required less treatment, and had demanded they be allowed to return to duty as soon as possible.

Shepard's good mood vanished as she thought about her fallen guards. Hours earlier, she had watched as the bodies of her faithful protectors were placed in caskets. She, Rex and Blaise had each given a prayer, and the latter had named each slain Alexian Guard a holy martyr. Shepard had gone a step further and asked a team of artificers to etch each woman's name onto her armor, so that they would always be at her side.

"Your Holiness," one of the guards, a white-haired woman named Carolya—leader of the Alexian Guard, who held the rank of Alexian Superior—bowed her head. "Did you… commune with the God-Emperor?"

"I did," Shepard confirmed. "He's very pleased with our progress. He actually said that we earned a little break, but then we're back on the job."

Carolya's eyes went wide—or rather, one did, since her right had been unsalvageable from a wound on Baal, and had been replaced by a bionic eye. The flesh around the metal was still red and raw, and looked unpleasant.

"It is an honor to serve the God-Emperor, unworthy as I am."

Shepard gently, but firmly, grabbed the other woman's shoulder and turned her to face her. "You _are _worthy, and anyone who says otherwise can take it up with me." She waited until Carolya nodded before speaking again. "Now then, I have a job for you—two jobs, actually."

"It shall be done."

"First, I want you and your sisters to take a break until you're fully healed." She covered Carolya's mouth when the other woman tried to protest. "No arguing! If you're worried about my safety, I'll ask Zandtus to loan me a few Space Marines. I want my bodyguards at their best, not bleeding on the floor. Your second task, after you've recovered, is to talk to Blaise about replenishing your ranks; you'll be the judge of who's good enough for the position, and no one else, not even me. Is that understood?"

Shepard was wondering where to go next, when her vox-bead chimed. "Yes?"

"_A thousand pardons, Saint Shepard, but we have received a message from the Chapter Master of the Lamenters. He asks that you meet him aboard his ship; he says that he accepts your offer."_

Shepard grinned. "Tell him I'm on my way."

…

The _Star of Grief _was a mess; Shepard had thought the Blood Angels battle barge was in bad shape, but the Lamenters' flagship looked like it had been to hell and back. Everywhere she looked, Chapter serfs labored alongside Tech-Priests to repair damaged mechanisms and torn plating.

"Do I even want to know what happened?" she asked.

Phoros, who guided her through the massive ship, scowled. "The last several centuries happened. With most Imperial facilities unwilling to aid us, we have been forced to make do."

"There's another reason for you to sign up with us," Shepard said. "Xem-Beta has gotten fond of maintaining Space Marine equipment. He'll probably give you a dirty look for letting the ship get this bad, but he'll still have it fixed."

"You are making your offer very difficult to refuse," Phoros said dryly.

"_Are _you refusing?"

"I will withhold that decision until you prove that we are no longer… cursed."

"Sounds good." Shepard looked around. "Where are we going, anyway? It's not like there's a directory or something."

Phoros chuckled. "It comes with spending centuries aboard this ship. And we are heading to the assembly hangar; battle barges such as this one rarely have an entire Chapter present in such a location, but these vessels are more than capable of housing all of us."

"How many times have you actually done that?"

"Very rarely, and never for a happy occasion." Phoros glanced back at her. "Perhaps you will change that."

Phoros brought her to the assembly hangar, where hundreds of Lamenters were waiting. Only about two hundred of them were regular Astartes, and about six hundred more were Primaris; there were also a few Dreadnoughts—critically wounded Space Marines, interred inside of an armored walker—that stood motionless.

"Whatever you are about to do, you will do it to me, first," Phoros said calmly. "My brothers will witness this, and decide if they truly believe you."

Shepard nodded, all joking now gone from her expression. "Can I have your hand, please?"

Phoros raised an eyebrow, and then held out his hand. Shepard took it in both of hers; her silver gauntlets were still dwarfed by his battered yellow one. Even before she began, she could feel the curse twisting, as if it was alive and afraid of her.

_You should be afraid, _she thought. _The Lamenters are under _my _protection now, and I won't let you hurt them again!_

There was a jolt as Shepard's blackstone-enhanced power flowed into Phoros; light crackled around him, followed by the sound of shattering glass and an inhuman shriek as a twisted shadow became visible, and was then destroyed. The other Lamenters all tensed, but Phoros only brought his free hand to his forehead.

"I… I can feel the difference," he said slowly. "It is as if a weight has been removed from my very soul. I did not even know it was there until it was gone."

Shepard smiled up at him; it was the same reassuring smile she'd give David after he woke up from a nightmare. "Well, it won't bother you again. I promise." She turned to the rest of the Chapter. "Okay, who's next?"

In the end, it took almost two days for Shepard to break the hold of Chaos on not just the Lamenters, but their equipment, vehicles, and even their ships. Their curse had spread to even their servo-skulls, which had scattered all over, and had to be hunted down by the Chapter. However, when it was finished, Shepard could proudly say that each Lamenter was as pure as any other Space Marine.

When Shepard finished cleansing the last bolter, Phoros knelt before her, head bowed. "Saint Shepard, you have done my Chapter a service that we can never repay. Please, allow us to accompany your Crusade, so that we may help you bring the light to the darkness."

Shepard was tired, both from the fighting on Baal, and from running around for two full days, but she smiled. "I accept your offer, Chapter Master, on the condition that you accept _my _offer of a place in my war council. You are probably the most experienced warrior in my Crusade now, and I need the kind of expertise you can bring to the table."

Phoros nodded. "I humbly accept. I swear that my Chapter will not fail you, or the Imperium."

"Good to hear." Shepard motioned for him to rise. "Please, get your Chapter ready to move out. We'll help you with your repairs as we go, but we really need to get to Deliverance, and then to Macragge."

"Of course, Saint Shepard." Phoros smiled; it was the happiest smile that Shepard had ever seen on a Space Marine. "It shall be done."

…

The moon of Deliverance did not usually see visitors, especially in large numbers. Even with messages alerting the Raven Guard Chapter Master, Kayvaan Shrike, of their arrival, he was still alarmed when an enormous fleet emerged from the Warp. He recognized the Rock, the ships of the Dark Angels and their successors, the Lamenters, and those of his Chapter's recent successors, the Necropolis Hawks. However, the number of Imperial Navy and Mechanicus ships swelled that number to a force the system hadn't seen since the days of the Great Crusade.

With so little warning of the Shepard Crusade's coming, Shrike had not been able to recall the entirety of his Chapter; only three Companies had been able to return to Deliverance in time, which left him with just under four hundred Astartes present.

A small part of him worried that Deliverance was about to come under attack. If it did, even the ancient defenses in the system would be unable to stop such a force.

"Chapter Master," a serf said, "the Necropolis Hawks are hailing us. They are requesting permission to land at the Ravenspire; they claim to have a Living Saint and several guests with them, and an important gift for the Chapter."

Shrike frowned behind his modified Mk. VI helm. "Permission granted, but only one transport may do so. And tell the Necropolis Hawks that I ask that the rest of the fleet move out of weapons range."

A few minutes passed, and the serf confirmed that all of his conditions were being met. That was a small relief to Shrike, but he had expected it; while he had never met Saint Shepard before, he had heard stories of how she was respectful to those who had not earned her wrath.

"I want the First Company with me on the landing pad," he ordered into his vox. "And have all defenses ready to fire, just in case. I will not be taken by surprise in my own home."

…

The Overlord slowly landed; it was clear that its weapons were shut down, and it was making every effort to appear as unthreatening as possible. Shrike watched from the shadows, along with nearly a hundred of the Raven Guard's elite veterans. With but a word, the guns hidden around the Ravenspire would blow the transport to pieces, and any survivors would be cut down in seconds.

Shrike tensed as the Overlord's ramp lowered, and several figures stepped out. He recognized one as Raquilon Zandtus—he had met the Primaris Chapter Master only once, but he had seemed to be an honorable man.

Then there was the woman who could only be Saint Shepard. Her silver armor gleamed in the weak sunlight as she gazed up at the Ravenspire. Shrike could tell that she was studying how the fortress-monastery was built; more than that, he could see on her face that she was suitably impressed.

When the next passengers stepped outside, Shrike forgot all about the ships in orbit, or their unexpected visit. All he or his brothers could focus on was a figure of legend, who had returned to Deliverance after more than ten thousand years. No living Raven Guard had ever laid eyes on him, but such was their genetic connection that they knew who he was by sight alone.

For the first time since his days as a mortal, Kayvaan Shrike trembled as he stepped out of the shadows and knelt before his Primarch.

"Lord Corax," he said softly, "welcome home."

Massive hands rested on his shoulders and gently pulled him to his feet. He looked up at Corax's face, a face that now lacked a beard, and with much shorter hair. That face bore a patient, almost fond, smile.

"It is good to see that the Ravenspire still stands after so many years," Corax said. "I have heard of your deeds, Chapter Master; you and your brothers would have made the Legion of old proud, as you have made me."

Shrike's eyes stung with unshed tears. "Thank you, Lord Corax."

Corax looked up at the Ravenspire wistfully. "Had we the time, I would have enjoyed seeing what has changed. Sadly, in this dark hour, there is little time to spare. My brother and I must reach Ultramar, and some of our allies require immediate aid."

At the mention of a brother, Shrike managed to tear his gaze away from his Primarch, and saw _Lion El'Jonson _was also present, looking faintly amused. It took Shrike a moment to respond to Corax's words.

"I shall send word to Kiavahr," he said. "They will send supplies and personnel."

"Good." Corax turned to the Living Saint. "Saint Shepard, those of your vessels that require urgent repairs should stay behind, but Jonson and I must continue on."

"I understand," Shepard said. "As soon as critical repairs are finished, those ships will follow after us. They can finish the small stuff later."

"My Lord," Shrike ventured, "might we delay your departure for at least a few more days? Several more companies are already en route to Deliverance…"

Corax shared a look with Jonson before answering. "Very well. We will wait for five more days; after that, we _must _leave." He smiled at Shrike again. "Until then, I would very much like to hear more of my sons' exploits over the millennia."

…

Three weeks later, the entire Ultramar system was on high alert when the Shepard Crusade and its allies arrived. A total of over two thousand ships, including vessels from over fifteen Space Marine Chapters, appeared without incident and fell into a defensive formation to compliment the Ultramar fleet.

With as much ceremony as could be agreed upon between two very different Primarchs, a procession of transports carried them, as well as Shepard and her own escort, down to the surface of Macragge. The ancient mountains surrounding the Fortress of Hera, the fortress-monastery, stood as imposingly as they ever had, while hundreds of gun batteries tracked the incoming transports, just in case.

Nearly the entire Ultramarines Chapter was present to greet the visitors, along with fifty thousand of the Ultramar PDF. Other officials, including representatives from the Mechanicus, Ecclesiarchy, Administratum, Inquisition, and dozens of other minor factions were in attendance, but there was only one figure that Corax and Jonson focused on.

Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium, the Avenging Son, Primarch of the Ultramarines. He stood in his full armor, the early morning sun causing the gold on his armor to glitter. That armor was more like an exoskeleton than true power armor, and it made him even more imposing; he had not come armed to this meeting, but even without his weapons, he was probably a match for either Corax or Jonson, unless they came at him with the intent to kill.

"Corvus Corax," Guilliman said warmly, his hands outstretched, "Lion El'Jonson. Welcome to Macragge. It has been a long time."

Corax was a stark contrast to his brothers, with his battered armor and less approachable personality, nodded in respect before taking Guilliman's hand in a warrior's grip.

"Roboute," he said quietly, "it is good to see you alive."

Shepard noticed that Jonson was looking around, as if he was comparing what he saw to old memories. She wasn't sure if he approved or not, but he nodded at Guilliman.

"It is good to see Macragge once again." He raised an eyebrow. "I had heard you were dead, brother, and then came back to life."

Guilliman smirked. "It would appear that tales of your own death were greatly exaggerated, Jonson."

Finally, the Avenging Son turned his gaze towards Shepard. In those eyes, she saw a mind capable of comprehending more knowledge in a day than she could ever hope to in several lifetimes. They were eyes that had beheld the greatest triumphs and the darkest treacheries, yet refused to let either slow him down—instead, they fueled his determination to drag the Imperium out of the darkness and into the light.

"So, you are Saint Shepard." With the attention of three Primarchs now on her, their combined auras nearly had Shepard immobile, even with the Emperor bolstering her. "Your Crusade has been responsible for much progress in Imperium Nihilus, and now you bring two of my lost brothers to me."

"Yes, Lord Guilliman," she said after a moment to compose herself. "I think we have a lot to discuss."

Guilliman nodded. "Yes, I believe we do."

**Primarchs are hard to write the perspectives of; their minds are so far beyond what is humanly possible, and are thus incredibly difficult to understand. That's why I didn't even try to write out their thoughts. They do things, and they usually have a good reason behind them.**

**I decided to have a few time-skips, or else I'd have two or three chapters of the characters just sitting around. My ADHD doesn't allow for that.**

**Did the Dark Angels get off easily? Yeah, they did, not counting getting slapped around by the Blood Angels, Shepard and Friends, and the Lamenters (who totally deserve a win). I decided that Jonson **_**does **_**still want to destroy the Fallen, but even he knows that secrets are stupid when they bring you into pointless conflict with the wrong side. Also, despite, Azrael being a douche, he is Supreme Grand Master for a reason; he'll keep his job, but he now answers to Daddy Lion. Wait, does that make Jonson Mufasa? He **_**was **_**near-killed by Luther, his sort-of brother…**

**Moving on.**

**There's no way the Lamenters have the luck they do without outside interference. Either Tzeentch got bored and messed with them, or GW **_**really **_**hates them. Anyway, I went with the curse option, and had Shepard remove said curse. Considering how awesome the Lamenters were, even **_**with **_**the curse, I imagine that they will be some of the Crusade's best elements. **

**Don't expect any of the Unforgiven to join Shepard. She is still unhappy with them.**

**And Guilliman arrives. Three Primarchs in a single chapter. Fun times.**

**Please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. If you're into military sci-fi, I think you'll enjoy my book. And I plan on the sequel to be out in a couple of months, so you have that to look forward to! You can find the book on Amazon, either as an eBook, or in physical format.**

**If you're feeling particularly awesome, please support my own crusade for financial stability and donate on P-atreon (link in my profile). The God-Emperor smiles on those who support those who support Him.**

**Here are some of the most loyal allies of the Muffin:**

**Serious Muffins:**** jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Krisjanis Jansons, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, Alexis Troy, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, Red Bard, Ultimatrix10**

**Incredible Muffins:**** RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Jaeger456, killroy225, Brian McGloughlin**

**Ultra Muffins:**** Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Shepard witnesses the reunion of brothers, while her enemies bring forth a weapon from the past to haunt her…**

**Only with Muffins does duty end.**


	15. Reflection

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THE INQUISITION SAYS I'M ALLOWED TO BE HERE, BUT THE BOLT PISTOL AGAINST MY HEAD MAKES WRITING DIFFICULT.**

**Guys, I think Nurgle has obtained too much power. Also, there's a bunch of Nurglings running around outside, calling me names. It's very mean.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 15

Reflection

Shepard waited patiently outside the doors of Guilliman's sanctum. For hours, he and his brothers had been isolated in that room, leaving Shepard with little to do until summoned. She had spent that time catching up with Marneus Calgar; the Chapter Master had little free time, but he was friendly enough with her. He also made a show of clearing the air with Malakim Phoros; apparently, the Lamenters had accidentally offended the Ultramarines centuries ago, but Calgar greeted his counterpart with a brotherly embrace.

Eventually, Shepard was called to meet with the Primarchs, but she still had to wait for a few minutes. When the door opened, she was ushered inside, where she saw the three brothers sitting in large chairs, each with a goblet of wine. None of them wore armor, and the sight of them like they were almost made Shepard laugh.

"Welcome, Saint Shepard," Guilliman said. "Please, take a seat."

Shepard glanced at the only free chair in the room. It had been built for a Primarch in mind, so when Shepard sat down, her feet couldn't reach the floor.

"You're enjoying this," she accused.

"Perhaps a little," Guilliman admitted. "But I feel that way with any mortal who sits in one of those chairs."

"Roboute has gained a sense of humor," Corax remarked to Jonson. "Should we be concerned?"

Jonson smirked. "Perhaps."

Shepard looked from one Primarch to another. "You know, I didn't expect the three of you to act like, well… like brothers."

"We have spent ten millennia apart," Corax reminded her. "With the galaxy as it is, even we need such simple joys."

"Good point," Shepard said. "But I'm guessing that you needed to talk to _me _about something."

"Questions, actually." Guilliman leaned back in his chair. "You are not the first Living Saint that I have met, and she claimed a connection to the Emperor. Corvus has told me that you have _spoken _to Him."

Shepard took a deep breath. "Yes, I have. It's hard to explain."

Guilliman's expression was almost deadpan. "Try."

Shepard chuckled. "Well, it's a good thing we're already comfortable. It's a long story."

…

"You're taller than I remember, Lord Calgar," Phoros commented idly.

"The wonders of crossing the Rubicon Primaris," Calgar replied; he briefly looked down at his gauntlet-covered hands. "Becoming a Primaris Marine has granted me new vitality and strength."

Phoros raised an eyebrow. "Would you recommend it?"

Here, Calgar hesitated. "It is risky. Many Astartes have tried, and many have lost their lives."

"I will take that into account." Phoros glanced down at one of his own gauntlets, covered in nicks and divots; he then looked at Calgar's pristine armor. "Thank you for allocating resources to my brothers; it has been some time since proper maintenance has been performed on our wargear."

"You are most welcome." Calgar must have spotted the surprise on Phoros' face, despite how well he hid it. "In these times of need, I will not hold grudges against comrades that have long since earned redemption."

Phoros accepted his words with a nod; he knew that the Lamenters had committed a grave sin against the Imperium, but they had fought for over a century since to regain their honor. He was just surprised that someone else had finally said as much. Someone other than Shepard, anyway; from what Phoros had heard, and from the little interaction he'd had with her compared to other leaders in the Crusade, Shepard was more willing to look beyond the surface than most Imperials.

"Tell me, Lord Phoros," Calgar said as they walked down a marble hallway, "do you know where the Crusade is headed next?"

"I wish I _did _know," Phoros said. "As far as I am aware, our only goal was to get Lords Corax and Jonson here. If there is a destination beyond that, Saint Shepard has yet to reveal it."

Calgar nodded. "Regardless, the Shepard Crusade has done excellent work in Imperium Nihilus. If you want to make a difference for the downtrodden, the Shepard Crusade has brought a measure of hope for the hopeless."

_Including my own Chapter, _Phoros thought wryly. Only a few weeks ago, he had privately been certain that he and his brothers were doomed to a slow extinction, even with their Primaris reinforcements. Now, after joining Shepard for less than a month, he wondered if the Lamenters might not only survive, but finally shake off their dark reputation.

That thought was enough to cement his decision. "Thank you, Lord Calgar. My brothers and I are always eager to aid those in greatest need."

Calgar nodded again. "I wish we had more time to converse, but even this time of celebration is tainted by reports of war. I can have an adept give you a report of the supplies transferred to your Chapter, as well as the progress of the repairs."

"That would be most appreciated, Lord Calgar; my brothers are eager to prove themselves to the Shepard Crusade."

Calgar's normally dour face smiled. "I'm certain that they will soon enough, my friend."

…

"This is most concerning," Helmin said, though his tone didn't hint at his worry. "How did this slip our notice until now?"

On the other side of the table, Blaise and Rex were incensed at the handwritten book that lay between them. "I don't know," the latter admitted through red-faced fury. "This goes well beyond acceptable deviance—it is utter heresy!"

"Saint Shepard will be even more enraged than we," Blaise said. "We all know how uncomfortable she is with such attention at the best of times."

"Perhaps…" Helmin hesitated, but then pushed on. "Perhaps we should not tell her? We could keep this between us, choose soldiers we can trust to remove these heretics, and swear them to secrecy."

"That is a dark path," Rex warned, but sighed. "However, it may be one we must bear, so that Saint Shepard does not suffer."

"Then we are decided?" Helmin waited until Blaise and Rex nodded. "Very well. I will call in Vils; his troops and the Sororitas will be able to handle this quietly."

A few minutes later, Vils entered the strategium and saluted; the Deltic Scorpions might have been the first to join the Shepard Crusade, but he was still the lowest-ranked in the room.

"Your summons sounded urgent," he said, getting right to business. "What has happened?"

Helmin used the back of his hand to push the book in his direction. "We have a problem aboard the _Vehemence_; outside of this room, only the High Admiral is aware of this. A group of the ship's crew and elements of several Astra Militarum regiments in the Crusade have begun worshipping Saint Shepard as an _equal _to the God-Emperor. They see her communion with Him, and the return of His sons, to be signs that she is more than just favored by Him."

Vils was one of the most disciplined men outside of the Astartes, but even he looked outraged at this heresy. He glared at the book, and his hand drifted to his plasma pistol.

"What do we do about this?"

"Your troops, and the Sisters of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, will hunt down these deluded fools," Helmin ordered. "You will find all who follow this deviancy, from the newest converts to the idiots who started it all, and… _remove _them."

"With pleasure," Vils said. "Saint Shepard didn't start this Crusade just so she could become a false idol."

"Which is why we must do this without her knowledge," Blaise said, though she sounded regretful. "The Shepard Crusade has been more successful than we could have imagined, but if Her Holiness were to learn of this, she would become so disgusted that she might disband the Crusade altogether."

Despite the gravity of the situation, all four of them smiled bitterly; they had come to know Shepard well enough to be certain that she would do exactly that. She would still fight the Imperium's enemies, but she would withdraw from all but the most necessary of interactions with people.

"When should we begin?" Vils asked.

"As soon as possible," Helmin said. "Fortune willing, we can stamp out this madness before we set off for the next campaign."

"Understood." Vils spared one last glare at the book, and its title.

_Words of the Empress_

…

Shepard took a sip from the tea a serf had provided during a break in her story. "So, yeah. That's about it."

To their credit, the Primarchs had been an excellent audience during the three days it had taken Shepard to tell them everything. From her time as an N7, to a general in the Empire, to becoming a Living Saint, all the way up to meeting Corax on Baal.

"I feel like you skimmed over a few details of your life," Guilliman commented idly.

Shepard gave him a tired grin. "I figured you three wouldn't mind if I skipped the minutiae. Or did you want to know every single time I had to change my son's diapers?"

Corax chuckled. "She has a point, Roboute; besides, she told us everything that mattered."

"Assuming it is all true," Jonson said. "I have no reason to believe it isn't, but you did not exactly bring proof with you."

"Even if I did make up a story that ridiculous," Shepard said, admitting to everyone that her life did sound impossible, "I've been doing good work for the Imperium."

"You are correct," Guilliman admitted. "And it is difficult to deny that a lie that impossible would be foolish to tell, so I must concede that it is likely true. The question now is, what are you going to do?"

"Well, the Emperor still has His mission for me," Shepard said. "There are more missing Primarchs out there; the Emperor is positive that at least Leman Russ, Vulkan and Jaghatai Khan are still alive."

"You mentioned that our father did not know that I yet lived." Jonson laced his fingers together and frowned. "Does that mean that the Emperor's sight cannot reach all of us? Could Dorn still live?"

Shepard shrugged helplessly. "If he _is _still alive, he's somewhere the Emperor can't sense, or He just hasn't told me about him yet."

Guilliman's expression darkened. "It would not be the first time that the Emperor held back secrets of great import. Had he told us of the dangers of the Warp, perhaps Magnus would have tempered his curiosity, and Lorgar might not have fallen to worshipping the Dark Gods. Perhaps even Horus—"

"Theoreticals and practicals, brother," Jonson said in a way that sounded like he was reminding Guilliman of something. "We cannot change the past, so we cannot dwell on it. We can only learn from our mistakes and not make them again."

Guilliman closed his eyes and smiled bitterly. "Using my own method against me, brother? It has been a long time since someone has reprimanded me like that, or at all."

"All the better that Shepard brought Corax and I back," Jonson said. "Obviously, you need someone to poke a hole in that ego of yours." He shook his head. "But we have gotten off-topic. Shepard, do you have a destination for your next campaign?"

Shepard had been watching the interaction between the Primarchs with fascination, but pretended to finish her tea to avoid looking obvious. She didn't fool the Primarchs for a second, but they didn't call her out on it. "Not yet, but I'm sure I'll get a hint before we ship out again. Do you mind if I ask you three a question?"

"Of course not," Corax said, answering for all three of them.

"What are _your _plans?" Shepard waved a hand at a map of the galaxy on the far wall. "Imperium Sanctus is far from secure, and Imperium Nihilus still has more problems than I can count."

Guilliman nodded. "We have considered that. I will continue to act as Lord Commander of the Imperium, but my efforts will now focus on Imperium Sanctus."

"My sons and I will return to Imperium Nihilus, to strike from the shadows at our enemies," Corax said. "I will coordinate with Commander Dante to break enemy strongholds and reclaim lost territory."

Jonson frowned thoughtfully. "I still have a score to settle with Luther and the Fallen, but I know that they will wait as long as it takes for that reckoning. Until then, my sons and I will patrol the Great Rift; I plan to help fortify the many corridors you have created, on both sides. Every fleet that can safely enter Imperium Nihilus is one more light against the darkness."

Shepard could see the stress melting away from Guilliman with every word from his brothers; for over a century, he had been doing the work of twenty Primarchs, and had been pushed far beyond what even he was capable of. All three Primarchs would still have to deal with far too much, but it was an impossible task that rested on three pairs of shoulders, not just one.

"Well, I'm sure you have a lot more to discuss," she said, and then barely managed to cover up a yawn. "Sorry, I think I need to get some sleep."

If it were possible for Primarchs to look sheepish, the three before her would have done so.

"My apologies," Guilliman said. "Sometimes we forget that few mortals can easily function without sleep."

Shepard bowed her head and made to get up, but Corax stopped her. "One last thing, Shepard—while I will take most of my sons on my part of the campaign, I have asked Chapter Master Zandtus and the Necropolis Hawks to remain with your Crusade. They have served your cause well, and I will not deprive you of them now."

Shepard smiled up at him. "Thank you; I consider many of the Necropolis Hawks my friends, and I was hoping that they'd stick around."

Corax nodded, and then opened the door for her; once she was gone, he sat down with his brothers. "Some of what she said has me concerned."

Jonson raised an eyebrow. "What part?"

"She has walked in three different galaxies—no, three different _realities_. If she can come here, can something else, something that is not as noble, do the same? Could something from _this _galaxy, such as Chaos, reach into other realities? Shepard mentioned that Chaos existed on her previous world."

Guilliman gently pinched the bridge of his nose—a sign of weariness he would never show to the outside world. "At this point, Corvus, I am not too worried about something from her previous lives comes here; from her descriptions, it seems that everything she didn't kill was much weaker than our current foes. And, callous it may be to say, I do not care if some of our current foes left our galaxy for another."

"I have a question, Corvus," Jonson said. "Why did you not bring up this matter with Shepard while she was here?"

Corax grimaced. "For all her fortitude, she is still mortal; I could tell that she has given into despair on more than one occasion. Like me, she is prone to self-recrimination, and the Imperium needs her focused." He chuckled. "She is the one who reminded _me_ of that. Her powers are simply too important to let her fade into obscurity."

Guilliman sighed, but nodded all the same. Shepard had withstood far more than a mortal should have to bear, but the Imperium needed her. For all the bitterness it left him, he would use Shepard until she had nothing left to give.

…

Two previous lifetimes of habit was hard to break; even now, Shepard still liked to do her rounds and check on her forces. Of course, the sheer size of her Crusade meant that visiting every person, or even every unit, was far too impractical. Instead, Shepard checked in with the other leaders within the Crusade, and occasionally a few individuals if she ran into them.

That didn't mean that Shepard didn't care about everyone in the Crusade. At some point, she'd started referring to her soldiers as her kids, and often jokingly treated some of them as children. It was particularly funny to all involved when she did that to the Space Marines, but they all took it in stride.

It was several days after her meeting with the Primarchs that Shepard noticed that some of her 'daughters' were in distress, and that caused alarms to go off in her head.

Shepard was good at reading people; it had been one of her strongest virtues, and something that had helped her during her officer's training. After so many decades, that skill had only been honed, which was why she quickly picked up on what could only be described as barely-concealed panic among the Order of Our Martyred Lady. Rather than try to follow the trail, she went straight to the source.

"Temperance, is something going on?" she asked as she entered Blaise's sanctum.

The Canoness Superior looked up from her reports. "How do you mean?"

"I was checking up on our girls, and they were… well, they looked ready to freak out." Shepard took a seat opposite Blaise. "Did I miss something?"

For a moment, Blaise hesitated, and she looked down in what Shepard realized was shame. "I received a message from Junith Eruita, the Canoness Superior over the entire Order. By the decree of the Ecclesiarch, Abbess Sanctorum and Prioress of Ophelia VII, all Sororitas of the Shepard Crusade have been…"

Shepard almost couldn't believe it when she saw _tears _in Blaise's remaining eye. She reached out and took the other woman's hands in her own.

"Temperance, just tell me, okay?"

Blaise nodded. "We have been commanded to form a new Order. We are no longer of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. We were told that this was no punishment, but our role in the Shepard Crusade has pulled us away from the duties we were originally assigned. Our armor and heraldry must be changed, and our new Order's name must be chosen."

Shepard was in nearly as much shock as Blaise; the Order meant everything to the Sororitas, and even being given the honor of forming a new Order was more of a backhanded compliment. It was almost like being kicked out of their own family.

"What can I do to help?" Shepard asked. "I could appeal to them, ask them to reconsider—"

"No!" Blaise jumped to her feet, eyes wide. "Your Holiness, we _do _see this as an honor, but it was so unexpected, especially in the wake of our success. Some of us wondered if we had transgressed, but our faith will return, stronger than ever."

For all her words, Blaise—and, by extension, the entirety of the new Order—still needed some reassurance. Shepard put her hands together and closed her eyes; she tapped into her power and materialized her wings for a moment. It was a sham, and she knew it, but she would do anything to bolster her friend's spirit.

"You have not transgressed," she said, and took Blaise's hands again. "You and your Sisters are brave and true. The Order of Our Martyred Lady is diminished in glory for sending you away. Forge your new Order with pride, and know that I will always stand by you."

Blaise didn't hide the tears that ran down her face; they were not tears of shame, but of almost rapturous joy. She wiped them away with her bionic hand, but then stared at her prosthetic with a wide eye.

"Temperance?" Shepard looked down at Blaise's hand, still wet with her tears. "What's going on in your head?"

"These are tears of pride," Blaise said, her voice almost trancelike. "Pride in the Emperor's work. These tears will only polish the iron in our souls. That shall be our new name—the Order of the Iron Tears."

Shepard smiled. "Let those tears be of grief only once; never let someone cause them twice. Always strive for their cause to be of joy and celebration of victory."

Blaise smiled back; the zealous light had faded from her eye, and she looked more relaxed. "Those sound like excellent words from our Order's Matriarch."

"Wait, what?" Matriarchs were the founders and Saints of an Order; there were supposed to be six Matriarchs, for the original six Orders. Putting Shepard in as a seventh Matriarch was a huge deal. "Temperance, are you sure about that?"

Blaise nodded. "I will submit your name as a new Matriarch, a Living Saint who has done more for the Imperium than perhaps any other. I am certain that the Abbess Sanctorum will approve."

Shepard smiled. "You have faith in that?"

"I do." Blaise laughed. "I have faith."

…

"_You seem excited," Shepard said as she sat down across from Revelation. "Good news, I take it?"_

"_It is good news," the old man said as he poked the fire. "The darkness has faded enough for me to find a clue regarding one of my missing sons."_

"_Great, another family reunion to put together." Shepard held her hands close to the fire to warm her aching joints. "Who am I looking for this time?"_

"_You will find out soon." Revelation laughed when Shepard pouted. "Forgive me, but I so rarely get a chance to tease. Do not worry, I have gained enough strength to give you a new wayfinder in realspace. You need only wake up for that."_

"_Do I have to wait long?"_

"_I could send you back at any time," Revelation said. "Why do you ask?"_

"_Well, this is a place where thought becomes reality, right?" Shepard reached behind her and pulled out a bag of marshmallows. "I wasn't kidding about the s'mores."_

"_Goodbye, Shepard."_

…

Shepard woke up and grumbled good-naturedly. "Jackass. Next time, I'm just gonna go for it."

She got out of bed and looked around. "He said he left the clue for me. Did he actually leave it in my quarters?" She paused as a thought came to her. "No way it could be that easy…"

She went to her desk, where she had left the jar that had, until a few hours ago, had held the feather that had pointed to Corvus Corax. Now, it had changed; instead of a feather, it held a fang. After a moment of examining it, she realized that it was the fang of a wolf.

Shepard activated her quarters' vox. "Dartan, are you up?"

"_Of course, Your Holiness. Do you require anything?"_

"Tell the fleet that we're shipping out soon," Shepard said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. "We've got a new trail to follow."

"_The Emperor has told you which Primarch we seek next?"_

"Yeah, He did. Send a message to the Primarchs on Macragge; tell them we're going after Leman Russ."

…

Far from Ultramar, another meeting was taking place; this one was far from peaceful, as Abaddon the Despoiler pulled the Talon of Horus from the chest of a Chaos Lord. The Warmaster didn't even look down at the corpse, instead fixing his gaze to the others in his court.

"I trust that my point has been made."

From the way no one spoke up, he assumed that it had. His display of brutality would silence the naysayers for a few weeks, which would give him the time he needed to change his fortunes.

Abaddon was careful not to let his frustration show. A little over five years ago, his great campaign had seemed unstoppable; even the return of Guilliman and the influx of the Primaris Astartes had only slowed his progress. Now, his many gains were on the verge of being overturned, and it was because of a single individual.

The Neverborn were still too afraid to speak of her, but Abaddon's mortal servants had learned much of Alexia Shepard. Her story began on Vigilus, mere days after he had been forced to retreat; according to many, she had the power to purge Chaos from people, machines, and even an entire planet. Since then, a Crusade had formed around her, striking hard at the Imperium's enemies; her military victories were almost insignificant compared to the wider galaxy, but it was something else that was causing more and more problems for Abaddon.

Shepard had the ability to create holes in the Great Rift. Each corridor she formed was another stable pathway for Imperial forces to come through and fortify both sides of the Rift. With Guilliman's logistical prowess leading the efforts, the Imperium was slowly reasserting its grip on both sides of the galaxy.

Something had to be done, but the galaxy was a big place, and Shepard's campaign was too fast for Abaddon to catch up. More frustratingly, her power prevented his sorcerers from scrying her plans. Of course, those plans had quickly become obvious. The Daemons were eager to let Abaddon know of the latest threat to his own plans.

She had found not just one loyal Primarch, but _two_. The forces of Chaos had been thrown into a panic when Guilliman was resurrected, and it was even worse now.

At least Abaddon knew which Primarchs he was dealing with; he would have to make a few deals with the Alpha Legion to parry Corax's shadow war, but it was the Lion's tactical prowess—and the huge number of Space Marines under his banner, a Legion in all but name—that concerned him most. He was positive that the Raven and the Lion would take the war to him, which meant that his attention would be suitably held.

Something still had to be done about Shepard. Harkon, his loyal herald, had offered to hunt her down, but Abaddon needed someone who knew Shepard, who could match and even outpace her. Two years ago, his sorcerers had worked to find such an individual.

Instead, they found three. The Daemons feared Shepard directly, but they were happy to find the souls of those who were her enemies. Though their souls had long since left their bodies, snatching them from the aether was a simple matter. None had been able to defeat Shepard alone, but the sorcerers and warpsmiths had an idea for that, and had spent the better part of two years forging a body for the souls to inhabit.

Now, Abaddon journeyed to the laboratory aboard the _Vengeful Spirit _set aside for just this purpose, he was ready to see the results of their endeavor.

"Is it ready?" he asked as he walked through the doorway.

One of the sorcerers bowed. "The body is, my lord—we were about to begin fusing the souls now."

"Excellent." Abaddon glanced at the body that hung from hooks and nodded. "Begin your ritual. I have need of my hunter."

…

_Fear. Ambition. Hatred._

_Fear of being enslaved. Fear that his decisions were not his own. Fear that he would be stopped._

_Ambition for control. Ambition for superiority. Ambition that was thwarted._

_Hatred for those whom she perceived as having more than her. Hatred for those who stood against her. Hatred for those who took what was rightfully hers._

_Those three emotions were what burned at the core of each soul, what kept them intact, despite the powers that sought to consume them. Alone, none of them were special; countless millions had the same qualities as them, and all of them died._

_What made them special, what attracted them together like the electrons of an atom, was that each of them had been killed by the same person._

_None of them cared for who the others were, nor what they had once been. All that mattered, all that kept even a spark of sanity alive, was the desire for revenge._

_Revenge for daring to defy them. Revenge for causing them harm. Revenge for killing them._

_When they had been given the offer to get the revenge they so craved, there had been no hesitation. The trio had eagerly accepted, and they had waited patiently for a vessel to house them. Now, as the power drew them together, the three compatible—but still unique—souls began to blend into one._

_Memories overlapped, emotions blurred, but the face of a single human woman remained constant. It didn't matter to them what the cost would be, so long as revenge was theirs._

_A pulling sensation, and then the amalgamation was drawn to its new body. The time of waiting was over. It was now time to hunt._

…

A terrible scream rent the air as foreign souls were melded together and placed into a body that didn't belong to any of them. Eyes glowed as unholy power surged within, and chains that had held the body in place pulled taught as it lunged forward.

Abaddon didn't move; he had faced far worse than a monster in the throes of its own birth.

"Be still," he commanded, and the sorcery woven into the creature forced it to obey him.

The Warmaster slowly circled around his monster; it was vaguely human, though it was impossible to determine its gender. Its skin was that of molten silver, which constantly shifted, like liquid in a clear container. Had Abaddon not been in his armor, the creature would have towered over him; even then, it was close.

"Do you know who you are?"

The creature turned its head to face him; Abaddon raised a single eyebrow as the face briefly shifted to a middle-aged human man, then a woman, and then some avian-insectoid xeno.

"_We are SarenArterius/JackHarper/HenriettavonCarstein." _The creature paused, as if considering what it had just said. _"I am the Amalgamation of Hate."_

Abaddon glanced at one of the sorcerers, who bowed slightly. "It will take a day or two for the fusion to settle, but describing itself as 'I' instead of 'we' so quickly is a good sign."

"Very well, Amalgamation." Abaddon lifted the Talon of Horus and hooked one claw under the creature's chin to turn its head back and forth. "You were promised vengeance against my enemy. Slay her, and we will both have what we want."

Amalgamation's eyes glowed crimson. _"Yes. I will do this. Does Shepard fight alone?"_

"No. She has powerful allies."

"_Then we require an army."_

Abaddon smiled. "I know exactly where you can start. But first, you will need armor and weapons."

Another sorcerer presented a suit of armor on a rack, and a sword. Each had been crafted for Amalgamation's hand, etched with Chaos runes of vengeance and spite. Thralls scurried forward and assembled the armor around Amalgamation's frame, until its entire body was covered; it now looked like a particularly tall Chaos Marine, but with an aura of malice that even Abaddon was impressed by.

Amalgamation looked the Warmaster in the eye. _"Where shall I begin?"_

**Hooray, I'm back with this story! Sorry it took so long to update, I was just really into my newest story, My Alien Academia. Also, I've been writing my next book; the only good thing about the coronavirus is that I have a lot of time to write.**

**Anyway, some interesting things happened in this chapter. Three Primarchs reunited. Some 'heretics' are suggesting that Shepard is an Empress. Malakim Phoros is considering crossing the Rubicon. The Sisters in the Crusade have been made into their own Order (because typing the Order of Our Martyred Lady over and over is a pain). The next Primarch has been identified.**

**And three of Shepard's worst enemies have been resurrected, and made stronger than ever.**

**Some of you might be going 'WTF? Those three died in different universes!' To that, I say that Chaos is present in all realities, in various levels of power. Souls go to the same place (the bad ones, anyway), so all Abaddon had to do was go fishing for Shepard's enemies who would love a second chance at taking her down. Lots of conflict coming up!**

**Anyway, for those of you who are stuck inside, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon. The sequel, **_**Delta Sanction**_**, is getting there, and should be published soon!**

**You can also support me on P-atreon (link in my profile), which can give me just a little less stress, and more time to write.**

**Speaking of which, I want to give a huge shout-out to the following Patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, Red Bard, Ultimatrix10, Shaolin Khalil**

**Incredible Muffins:**** RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, killroy225**

**Ultra Muffins:**** Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: The Shepard Crusade marches on, but shadows gather to meet the growing light…**

**Burn in holy Muffins!**


	16. Wyrd

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I TRIED TO TURN MY DOG INTO A FLESH HOUND OF KHORNE. ALL THAT HAPPENED IS THAT HE NOW FLOPS OVER WHEN I SAY 'BLOOD'.**

**The short peace Shepard has enjoyed is over. It is time to go back to war.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 16

Wyrd

Deep in the Fang, home of the Space Wolves, an ancient warrior stirred. He had been active more often than not over the last two centuries, and he needed to rest, but something tugged at his soul.

"_Iron Priest."_

An attending brother—he did not know his name, and they all blended together after so long—marched smartly over.

"I did not realize you were awake, honored elder."

"_I have come to a decision," _the warrior said, not bothering to respond to the Iron Priest's words. _"I must speak to the Great Wolf. Bring him here. Long have I dwelt on this matter, and I would share my thoughts with him."_

Rather than ask pointless questions, the Iron Priest hurried to obey his command. The warrior waited patiently, and allowed himself to think. Perhaps it was time to do more than offer advice or fight for his brothers when their need was dire.

Perhaps…

Footsteps echoed through the chamber as Logan Grimnar arrived. The Terminator armor did little to hinder the Great Wolf's natural energy; if anything, it made him seem like a beast that was patiently stalking his prey.

"I was told you needed to speak with me," Grimnar said. "I mean no offense, but I ask that you make this fast. I must sail across the stars for another campaign."

"_I require a ship, and warriors to fight alongside me in battle," _the ancient one said, his tone allowing for no refusal. _"I too must bring the Allfather's wrath to the foe."_

Grimnar frowned. "You have not left the Fang in many seasons, great one."

"_That has not stopped others in this dismal place," _was the angry retort. _"I must do this. In this time of darkness, we can hold nothing back."_

Grimnar sighed, but the ancient warrior knew he would not be denied. "Very well. I will send the Blackmanes; they've been reinforced since that botched attempt to kill the Beast."

"_Good. Now, have the Iron Priests ready me for battle." _The ancient Dreadnought rose to its full height. _"Finally, Bjorn shall go to war!"_

…

Not for the first time, Shepard was grateful that her helmet could filter out smells. The stench of burning corpses would have been overwhelming, otherwise. All around her, thousands of Genestealer Cultists were burning; the fires had been going nonstop for three days, and the Mechanicus had estimated that it would be another five before all the bodies were destroyed.

"If I never see another Genestealer, it'll be too soon," Shepard muttered.

"Agreed," Canoness Mallis said. "Seeing those abominations and knowing that they… _breed_… with humans disgusts me to my core."

Shepard closed her eyes. "You know, I finally got that image out of my mind, and then you said that."

"My apologies, Your Holiness," Mallis said, though there was a teasing glint in her eyes. "What, pray tell, bothers you so much about these abominations?"

Shepard actually thought about it for a moment. "Maybe it's petty, but I'm a girl who appreciates symmetry. It's the three arms that freaks me out; my brain keeps telling me they should be unbalanced, but they're not. Yuck."

Mallis laughed and gestured to the dead cultists. "Then I hope that this balances your humors."

"Surprisingly, yes; killing something with fire usually makes me feel better."

The Shepard Crusade had arrived at Argris Minoris without incident; it was a mining world, relatively close to the Eye of Terror, that supplied an entire subsector with valuable metals, but had lost all communication several weeks earlier. The only other planet in the system was Argris Primaris, a world nearly overrun by grox, which were regularly harvested and used to feed a dozen other systems. Despite what the system produced, it wasn't considered extremely vital to the Imperium at large, but Imperium Nihilus needed every resource it could get; more importantly, records showed that Leman Russ had conquered it during the Great Crusade, and the wayfinder had brought them there. At first, Shepard worried that the forces of Chaos had somehow preempted her, but upon her arrival on the planet, it was clear that it was in the middle of a Genestealer uprising.

Unfortunately for the cultists, the veterans of the Shepard Crusade knew how to fight such an enemy, and they were far less powerful than the cult on Vigilus. Within two weeks, the cult's leadership was dead, including the Patriarch—killed by a strike force of Necropolis Hawks and Lamenters—and the rest of the cultists driven out of their holes by the grinding advance of the Astra Militarum, the clockwork precision of the Mechanicus, and the unrelenting fury of the Sisters of Battle.

"Well, at least this part is over," Shepard said. "I'll be in the museum if Zandtus and Phoros ask when they get here."

Mallis bowed her head. "It shall be done."

Shepard entered the museum dedicated to the world's induction into the Imperium. Every hallway was guarded by Sisters from the Order of the Iron Tears. Even though three months had passed since they had become their own Order, Shepard was still thrown off by their change in armor. It had been repainted to a shining silver, much like her own, save for their left shoulder guards; it remained black, to remember their origins. On that shoulder was the Order's new heraldry—a single iron-colored teardrop, over a red circle ringed in white.

Their robes had also changed, from red to black; each Sister's robes had the names of lost friends stitched in white on the inside. This wasn't limited to other Sororitas, but also fallen Guardsmen, Skitarii, and Space Marines. After what Shepard had done for the Alexian Guard who had died on Baal, it had become common practice among the new Order to bring fallen comrades into battle, after a fashion. Shepard didn't mind, especially when it had fostered even stronger bonds within the Crusade.

Deep inside the museum, Shepard found the Alexian Guard standing at attention around a series of artifacts, suspended in stasis fields.

"Your Holiness," Alexian Superior Carolya said with a bow. "The artifacts were not damaged during the battle. It appears that the vile xenos did not see them as important."

"Good news for us," Shepard said. "Anything in particular catch your eye while I was out?"

Carolya wasn't wearing her helm, so her disdain was obvious. "The display that claims to hold a gauntlet that Leman Russ himself wore is obviously wrong."

Shepard looked at the display in question. "Yeah, whoever set this up clearly never met a Space Marine. That gauntlet is too small for a Primarch; hell, it's too small for a Primaris Marine."

Most of the other artifacts were hardly worth the name—a fragment of power armor, a few bolt shell casings, and a carefully preserved footprint that _might _have been Primarch-sized, but it could have also been from Terminator armor.

"If I didn't know the people who set this up were millennia dead, I'd give them an earful about fact-checking," Shepard grumbled. "None of this stuff belonged to… hello, what's this?"

Her change of tone caught her Guards' attention. They watched as she reached out for the hilt of a broken combat blade.

"He used this," Shepard whispered. "I can feel it. He only held it for a few seconds, but he _did _use it."

"The God-Emperor sent us here for this?" Carolya peered at the hilt. "I do not dare question His wisdom, but… why?"

"I don't think we're here to take this," Shepard said. "The Emperor doesn't know where His sons are exactly, but He _can _put us on the trail. I think we're just supposed to be here." She nodded to herself, and then activated her vox. "Helmin, are you busy?"

There was a moment of silence before the Lord-Marshal answered. _"For you, Your Holiness, I am never too busy."_

"Flattery only gets you so far, and I'm too old for you," Shepard joked, but then got serious. "How's the cleanup going?"

"_We're still mopping up pockets of cultists, but they've been broken. Reclamation forces should be here within the month, and the manufactorums are mostly undamaged, from what I've been told. I wouldn't be surprised if this planet became a center of industry sooner than later."_

"Good to hear. Listen, after we've kicked the freaks out of the neighborhood, have our ground forces dig in and fortify for now."

There was another pause, and Shepard could almost see Helmin blink in surprise. She could understand; the Crusade rarely stayed anywhere after it was finished in a theater, and its rapid progress had been a point of pride.

"_It shall be done, Your Holiness, but if I may be so bold… why?"_

Shepard glanced at the broken blade again. "Call it a feeling. We're waiting for something, and I want to be ready when it gets here."

…

Several hours later, Shepard held a council of war inside the museum. Only Dartan wasn't there in person, but as a hologram; he hadn't left the _Vehemence _in almost eighty years, by his estimate, and he had no intention of setting foot on a planet now.

"The trail ends here?" Zandtus chuckled dryly. "After the way we found Lord Corax, and how _he _found the Lion, I thought we would find Lord Russ on a world more… grand."

Shepard grinned. "I don't think he's here; from everything I was told on Macragge before we left, he's not exactly hard to find."

Blaise rested her chin on her bionic fist. "But the God-Emperor has commanded us to remain here for now, yes? If that is His will, then we shall obey."

"Whatever is coming, I don't want to be caught unprepared—just in case it's not friendly." Shepard turned to Xem-Beta. "Can we get some of the manufactorums up and running to top off our supplies?"

The Magos' optics clicked as they rotated. "That will not be necessary. Finished product is already in storage. However, I have already allocated Mechanicus resources to restoring the blessed facilities. With the proper appeasement of the machine spirits, the manufactorums will be operational again in two weeks." He paused, and then turned to Helmin. "Our progress would be expedited if extra personnel were tasked with removing the graffiti the enemy left in the facilities. Such desecration infuriates the machine spirits."

Shepard scowled. "It infuriates _me_. This planet is important to keeping Imperium Nihilus supplied; enemy or not, I hate seeing places like this be disrespected."

Helmin nodded. "In that case, I will place a regiment at your disposal, Xem-Beta."

"While that's going on," Shepard said, "I want the mop-up operations to continue as planned. The Guard will work on creating strongpoints, the Mechanicus will restore and fortify the manufactorums, and the Sisters will burn away the bodies. Zandtus, Phoros—I want your boys to hunt down those holdouts."

Zandtus nodded first. "I'll begin at once."

Phoros stood up slowly. "If you locate the enemy and pin them down, my brothers will launch aerial attacks to crush them. I would join you myself, but…"

"I understand," Shepard said when Phoros trailed off. "You're still recovering."

After almost two months of deliberation, Phoros had made the decision to cross the Rubicon Primaris. It had been a dangerous course of action, and the Sanguinary Priests—the Blood Angel and successor equivalent to Apothecaries—had worried that he wouldn't survive the procedure. However, survive he did, but he was still adjusting to his enhancements, and he was in a great deal of pain. His armor had also only just been finished—gone was his old battered armor, replaced by beautiful Mk. X Tacticus armor that bore the Lamenters' heraldry on his shoulder, and the Aquila in gleaming gold on his chest.

His equipment wasn't the only set that had been restored to glory. After Shepard had lifted their curse, and with the help of the Mechanicus, the entire Chapter now sported armor and weapons of such artifice that even the Blood Angels would have been proud.

"All right, let's get to work." Shepard stood up, and those of her advisors still seated rose with her. "I don't know what's coming to meet us, but they'll get a warm reception one way or another."

…

Phoros rested his hands against the edge of the hololithic display; his body still ached, and would continue to do so for at least a few more weeks, but his mind was still sharp, and he used it to great effect.

"Raquilon, redistribute your squads in grid fourteen-nine-seven, they are too concentrated. There is a high likelihood that there is an ambush along their current path."

"_Understood, Malakim," _Zandtus replied. _"Adjusting deployment now. Are there any other developments?"_

Phoros glanced at a dataslate a serf had provided just a few minutes earlier. "Elements of your Fifth Company intercepted Genestealer forces before they could ambush an armored convoy from the Cadian One-Thousand-Twenty-Second. Some of your warriors are injured, but none are critical."

"_That regiment is part of the First-Blooded," _Zandtus mused. _"Shepard will be pleased that they were not attacked."_

"Saint Shepard is very… protective of her soldiers," Phoros said. His words were spoken with caution; centuries of misfortune had ingrained a desire to not offend allies in all Lamenters, and Phoros was still the newest member of the Crusade's leadership, and didn't want to accidentally insult his Chapter's savior.

Thankfully, Zandtus laughed. _"She has come to treat the units closest to her as her own sons and daughters. Do not be surprised if she starts calling you and your Chapter 'her boys'."_

If anything, that made Phoros smile. "I would find that funny, considering that some of us are centuries her senior."

"_Indeed; I believe I am at least a hundred years older than her." _There was a pause, and then the tell-tale sound of a bolter voicing its fury. _"My apologies, I had to deal with one of the xenos as it crawled out of its hole. Excuse me while my warriors burn the rest out of hiding."_

Phoros shook his head at the amusement in his counterpart's voice, but as he was about to shift his attention to another area, movement from the shadows of the strategium caught his eye. Centuries of experience and instinct kicked in, and he drew _Catechist_, his inferno pistol, and aimed it in one swift motion. He fired just as his would-be assassin leapt from the shadows, blade drawn and aimed at his throat; the melta blast reduced the Sanctus' upper half to superheated gas.

Before the severed legs had even hit the floor, Phoros' Sanguinary Guard rushed inside, weapons drawn.

"My Lord, what has happened?" one asked.

"Put all command centers on alert," Phoros ordered calmly as he picked up his Glaive Encarmine, heedless of the pain each movement caused him. "It seems that the cultists have seeded assassins in our midst."

…

"And _this _is why I never tell security forces to stand down in a warzone," Shepard said idly as she stepped over the corpse of another Sanctus. "Thanks for the warning, Malakim."

"_You are most welcome, Saint Shepard," _Phoros said over the vox. _"Only two other assassins were reported among the command staff, but they were neutralized. Archmagos Xem-Beta reported some damage, but he said that it was nothing that couldn't be repaired."_

"Good to hear." Shepard ruffled Hiral's hair fondly. "And you made one hell of a shot. I didn't even have to do anything."

Though he had long since become a veteran, Shepard's banner-bearer ducked his head like the boy he'd once been. "I could do nothing less, Your Holiness."

One of the Alexian Guard—one of the surviving original members—smiled teasingly. "He works so hard to impress you, Your Holiness."

Shepard laughed. "Nah, he's just hoping that it'll make him look good for… what's her name again, Hiral? That Seraphim I keep seeing you chat up?"

Hiral suddenly found the floor very interesting. "Her name is Rychelle, Your Holiness, and we met on Prospero. We are friends, nothing more."

"Sure you are," Shepard said with a knowing grin. "Rychelle, huh? I don't think I've spoken to her. Is she cute?" At that point, Hiral looked like he wanted nothing more than to disappear, and Shepard finally took pity on him. "Okay, I'll stop. I'm gonna see if I can help Zandtus deal with the last of those cultists. See you later, you romantic, you."

Hiral just groaned.

…

Three days later, the Shepard Crusade had finally rooted out the last of the Genestealer Cults, and was working with the surviving PDF forces to fortify the planet as much as possible. Unfortunately, the fighting had severely reduced the local forces, and despite the size of the Crusade, there were going to be gaps in the defenses.

Thankfully, Xem-Beta and his Tech-Priests had proven their worth by slaving control of the larger defenses to a single group of cogitators that were programmed to attack the largest concentration of enemy forces. This could be overridden to target something in particular, per Shepard's request.

"It may operate on logic," she had said, "but sometimes logic and common sense don't operate on the same wavelength."

Rather than take offense at that statement, Xem-Beta had merely turned away and shook his head. After several years of getting to know him, Shepard knew that that was the closest he came to laughing.

Shepard had just finished her latest inspection of the defenses when she received an urgent vox-message from the _Vehemence_.

"This is Shepard, go ahead."

"_Shepard, we have a situation." _Dartan's voice was urgent, but not panicked. _"The Navigators and Astropaths in the fleet are reporting a strange phenomenon—their abilities have been dampened, some to the point that they cannot use their powers at all."_

Shepard was more than a little alarmed; something that could shut down their long-range communications and ability to safely navigate the Warp—even with her powers, she couldn't tell _where _the fleet was going—was something worth being apprehensive about.

"Do you have any idea what's causing it?"

"_I have never fought this particular enemy before, but I know someone who has," _Dartan said. _"Lord Phoros confirmed my suspicions before I contacted you. This phenomenon is known as the 'Shadow in the Warp'. It heralds the arrival of a Tyranid hive fleet."_

Shepard worked very hard not to let a sense of dread overwhelm her. Of all the Imperium's many enemies, not even Chaos scared her as much as the Tyranids. They reminded her of the Reapers, in a way—unyielding, unstoppable, and utterly without number. There were ways to beat them, yes, but the best bet was in space, well before they managed to land on a planet and drain it of biomass. And with Argris Primaris practically covered in grox, there was so much biomass that it would be a feast for the Tyranids, to say nothing of the billions of humans who would starve without the food.

"How long do we have?" At that point, with their Navigators weakened, there was little chance of escape, and without their Astropaths, they couldn't call for help.

"_Sixteen days, according to our cogitators. However, I do have some good news—according to the sensations experienced by our psykers, and going by data supplied by both the Lamenters and the Mechanicus, this is not a full hive fleet. Rather, it is a splinter fleet, which means that it is entirely possible that we can defeat it."_

Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to fight a hopeless battle, but if she had a chance, she would take it.

"Thanks," she said. "Get the fleet ready to hit those bugs before they reach the planet. I'll make sure we can handle anything that gets past you."

"_It shall be done, Your Holiness."_

Once Dartan ended the call, Shepard switched her vox channel to the command frequency. "Attention, all Crusade forces on-planet—we are now on a war footing. Whatever you were doing to get this place ready for a fight, double your efforts. We've got sixteen days to turn this place into a fortress. Anyone who knows how to fight Tyranids will be giving tactical advice to anyone who doesn't." She paused; her next words were to herself as much as they were to her soldiers. "This is _not _going to end here."

…

Despite time working against them, the Shepard Crusade did an admirable job of fortifying Argris Minoris. Fortunately, the planet's resources were largely focused on three distinct manufactorum complexes—the rest of the world's wildlife had been wiped out by millennia of pollution. That meant that the Tyranids' primary target would be the defenders.

Shepard moved rapidly between each strongpoint, rallying soldiers and offering 'blessings'. She was positive that they didn't do anything, but if it helped her soldiers fight harder, she wouldn't complain.

As the Tyranids got closer, a Necropolis Hawks ship—crewed entirely of volunteers—made a stealthy approach to get a better idea of what they were facing. By Tyranid standards, this fleet was small, numbering only about a thousand ships; as long as the Imperial vessels stayed far enough away, their superior range would allow them to do plenty of damage to the aliens.

On the ground, Shepard got what little rest she could among the First-Blooded; they were devoted to her not just because she was a Living Saint, but because she cared about them like they were her own children. As such, they made sure she was never disturbed unless it was a real emergency.

Unfortunately, one such emergency came in while Shepard was grabbing a few hours of sleep in a tent that belonged to the Eleventh Vigilant Guard. A Guardsman from that same regiment rushed in with a vox-caster.

"Your Holiness!" he gasped out. "Urgent news from the Lord-Marshal!"

Shepard was awake in an instant, all signs of fatigue forced back as she took the vox. "Thank you; please excuse me." She waited until the man left, and then held the vox up. "Go ahead, Helmin."

"_Shepard, we have both good news and bad news." _Helmin cleared his throat. _"The bad news is that the xenos 'ships' have accelerated; the first shots will be fired by this time tomorrow."_

"Sounds like the bugs are hungry," Shepard mused. "What's the good news?"

"_The Librarians of the Lamenters reported that they were able to make contact with their cousins among the Flesh Tearers. They are close enough to reinforce us in four days."_

"I won't say no to more Space Marines, though in four days, they might not have much left to kill after we're done." Shepard was joking, but she made a mental note to keep the Sororitas away from the reinforcements; Blaise probably still held a grudge.

"_The Lamenters also believe that other Imperial vessels may be close, but they could not say so with any certainty."_

"Here's hoping." Shepard rolled her shoulders in their sockets. "We're going to need all the help we can get, small tendril or otherwise."

"_Agreed. We have already calculated the areas that will contain the highest concentration of xenos landings, and have focused our artillery accordingly."_

"Please tell me our antiaircraft guns are ready. Anything we kill in the air is one less thing we have to fight on the ground."

"_Already taken care of, but Xem-Beta warned me that our best-case scenario only reduces their numbers by eight percent."_

Shepard sighed. "Of course. Can't ever be easy."

"_The Emperor is surely with us, Your Holiness." _Shepard couldn't tell if Helmin was teasing her or not. _"The faithful cannot fail Him."_

_Here's hoping that's true. _Shepard looked up into the sky; it was probably just her imagination, but the Great Rift looked just a little bit darker. _I really don't want to get killed by a bunch of bugs. That's just embarrassing._

…

Dartan had never faced the Tyranids, despite his long career, but he had spent years studying the reports, just in case; they were certainly dangerous in the void, but not if you were careful and patient. Like when dealing with their ground forces, it was just a matter of punching a hole in the lesser creatures until a synapse monster was revealed. Kill enough of those, and the beasts fell into disarray; they would eventually reorganize as the Hive Fleet adapted, but the process could be repeated until the Tyranids ran out of biomass.

That was, of course, assuming that everything went to plan. There was always a chance that the xenos would unleash some new horror, and Dartan would have been a fool to think that he could have a battle in Imperium Nihilus without some complication.

Which, of course, is exactly what happened.

When the klaxons blared, announcing a contact on long-range sensors, Dartan worried that the Tyranids had somehow arrived even faster than anticipated. The fleet was ready for battle, but he had still hoped for more time. He almost ordered his ships to fire at extreme-range, only to read the ident-code presented by the newcomers.

"Gunners, stand down!" he roared. "Someone get me in contact with Saint Shepard!"

A moment later, Shepard's voice was heard through Dartan's personal vox. _"What's the situation? Are the Tyranids here already?"_

"No, thank the Emperor for small mercies." Dartan sighed. "An Imperial vessel has entered into sensor range."

"_Just one? Who is it?"_

"A strike cruiser, Astartes-class. It is the _Howling Storm_, of the Space Wolves."

There was a pause as Shepard digested that. _"We're a ways from Fenris. What are they doing here?"_

"I will inquire as to their intentions as soon as they enter communications range."

"_Thanks. Keep me apprised as the situation develops, but don't be afraid to hang up if the Tyranids get here."_

"Of course. Still, do not be surprised if the Wolves decide to meet you in person; they can be rather… brusque."

"_As long as they get to the point and don't waste our time." _Shepard paused again, but Dartan caught someone else's voice distantly on her side of the vox. _"Sorry, I have to go. Good luck, High Admiral."_

"And you as well, Your Holiness."

Dartan didn't wish the Emperor's favor upon Shepard; after all, she already had it.

…

Shepard idly wondered if Dartan had some latent psychic ability to see the future, or he just had that much experience to call upon, but a few hours later, a gunship in grey colors and bedecked in wolf-iconography landed inside the perimeter of the Crusade's primary headquarters. Shepard waited to see who would emerge, along with the Alexian Guard and Helmin, the only other leader of the Crusade who was present.

The first to emerge from the Stormwolf was a small group of veterans. They weren't Primaris Marines, but they were still imposing; their armor was marked by runes and covered in wolf pelts, and each carried beautifully crafted weapons. Following them was a Primaris Marine; his armor was either new or freshly repaired, and he wore a massive pelt over his shoulder. His head was bare, letting his topknot flutter in the wind.

He looked young, for a Space Marine, but the way he observed everything before stalking forward—and the way he moved was like an animal preparing to pounce—was something Shepard saw in more veteran fighters.

The Space Marine walked up to Shepard, ignoring the way the Alexian Guard tensed. He stared down at Shepard, who met his gaze evenly.

"You are the Living Saint?" he asked in a thick accent.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Shepard replied. "And who are you?"

The Space Wolf raised an eyebrow. "I am Ragnar Blackmane, Wolf Lord of the Blackmane Great Company. My brothers and I have been searching for you, Alexia Shepard."

Now it was Shepard's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Wow. You might be one of the first people who called me by my first name _before _getting to know me." She crossed her arms. "And _why _were you looking for me?"

Ragnar shrugged. "The Rune Priests have seen the wheels of fate turn around you. They say that helping you here will help the sons of Russ."

Shepard smiled up at him. "Well, I won't say no to more help, especially with the Tyranids on the way."

Now Ragnar nodded. "I have a plan for that. While your ships keep the Hive Fleet distracted, I will lead a boarding action against the command creature. Your fleet will tear the beast's flanks, and we will rip out its heart."

Shepard was actually glad for Ragnar's reckless plan; it meant that the Crusade wouldn't have to account for the rogue element the Space Wolves were sometimes known for being.

"Are you taking your entire force out there?" she asked.

"No, just an elite force," Ragnar answered. "I will leave the rest of my Great Company here to hold the line, under the command of the Fell-Handed."

Before Shepard could ask who Ragnar was talking about, there was a loud clang, and then heavy footsteps as a Dreadnought stomped out of the gunship. It was ancient in design, decorated with runes, precious stones, and gold. Its right arm was a multibarreled assault cannon, while its left was a primitive fist, with each finger tipped with an enormous claw.

The Dreadnought swiveled to look at Ragnar for a moment. When he spoke, the synthesized voice shook Shepard down to her bones. _"Enough with your posturing, pup; there are foes to slay, and a world to defend."_

Ragnar bared his teeth at the insult, and Shepard saw elongated canines before the Wolf Lord nodded. "As you say. I will take my leave, Lord Bjorn."

"_Ignore his impetuousness," _Bjorn said as Ragnar called down more transports from low orbit. _"He is reckless, but he gets results. He only seeks redemption after his failure to kill the Beast of Armageddon."_

"If he can cut the head off the snake, and doesn't get us all killed in the process, I won't say anything." If anything, Shepard was reminded of her old squadmate, James—a man who had seen plenty of combat, but was still eager for a fight. "Now, not that I'm complaining, but why _are _you here? It can't be a coincidence."

"_It is not," _Bjorn admitted. _"I have heard of your exploits, and know that you seek another Primarch—my father, Leman Russ. I feel that it is only right that one of the Rout be among those who find him."_

Shepard couldn't exactly say no; after all, she'd had the Necropolis Hawks with her when she had been searching for Corax. It was only fair that the Space Wolves be present when she found their Primarch.

Also, she wasn't really sure she could _stop _the Wolves from joining.

"All right," she said, "welcome to the party. I hope you're ready for a fight."

At first, it sounded like static came from Bjorn's vox emitter, until Shepard realized that he was laughing.

"_You have not battled alongside the _Vlka Fenrika _before, have you?" _Bjorn leaned forward, as if to whisper a secret in her ear. _"We are always ready for a fight."_

**Hi, everyone! I'm back to this story! Sorry for taking so long for a shorter chapter, but a number of things happened: writer's block, interest in another story, writing my next book, and also hurting my wrists badly enough that I almost risked going to the hospital. I'm doing better now. I'm still in pain, but not so much that I can't write.**

**So… Space Wolves. I was writing this chapter when the new Psychic Awakening book, Saga of the Beast, came out. I love the new Ragnar model, though apparently he can't kill Ghazghkull, either in person, or by dropping a space station on his head. I thought I'd incorporate that a bit here.**

**Also, I finished writing this just as the new 40K preview dropped. So many cool things for Space Marines—Primaris bikers, new Gravis guys, Chaplains, and Assault Intercessors! Speaking of which…**

Omake

Guilliman raised one hand in greeting to the hundreds of new Primaris Astartes that stood at attention.

"Welcome, loyal sons of the Emperor," he said in his noble voice. "You have been chosen to bear new weapons and tactics to your brethren among the stars. You know that you have been selected as Intercessors, but there will be a slight change to your loadouts."

Guilliman gestured for the front rank to step forward, and a servitor wheeled out a long table, covered in weapons. "Take your heavy bolt pistols and chainswords, loyal Astartes."

One of the Intercessors hesitated. "My Lord, have we all been promoted to sergeant?"

"… no?"

"But… but why are we all being given chainswords? Where are the bolt rifles?"

"There aren't any. You're _Assault _Intercessors."

The sergeant of the squad frowned. "I thought that meant we were getting auto bolt rifles. Those are assault weapons."

"No, you're a melee unit now."

Another Intercessor—sorry, _Assault _Intercessor—hesitantly picked up a pistol. "What about the Reivers? Won't they be seen as less useful, since we're already cheaper in points? I mean, we already stole their guns. We can't deep strike, but we could be put in tanks to get us in close."

"That's the point." Guilliman was starting to get annoyed. "Besides, many Chapters prefer close-quarters fighting, and you guys aren't Elites choices… I think."

(Games Workshop hasn't revealed details yet, and so, the Lord Commander doesn't know either)

The first Intercessor looked down at his chainsword. "So… because no one uses Reivers, we're the cheap replacement? What if no one uses _us_?"

Finally, Guilliman had had enough. "Okay, you know what? I don't care! If your assigned Chapter has spare bolt rifles, you can use those, but if you get sent to the Blood Angels or the Black Templars or something, you'll keep your chainsword, and you will like it!" He tossed a few purity seals at them. "Take these, put them on your armor, and get out there."

**Yeah, so, I'm more excited about the bikes, but everything for the Space Marines looks awesome, and I can't wait.**

**Hey, wasn't there something else—**

_***The Silent King has entered the chat***_

**Oh, right. Shit. We're in trouble, guys.**

**No, seriously, I love what I've seen for the Necrons, and I can't wait to see all the new stuff!**

**Anyway, back to this chapter: 'nids are coming, Wolves are here, and Shepard is still looking for Leman Russ. Yay.**

**Now, if you want more sci-fi battles, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon. With the pandemic still a serious problem, we could all use some new stuff to read while we practice social distancing.**

**If you don't want to buy my book, but still want to support me (because no one is hiring right now), please consider donating on P-atreon (link in my profile). Every dollar donated is one step closer to me buying a doomsday bunker for me to hide in and do nothing but write fan fiction.**

**Speaking of which, I want to thank the following patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Calleo, Casey Pak, Red Bard, Ultimatrix10, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225**

**Incredible Muffins:**** RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844**

**Ultra Muffins:**** Adam Costello, Jeffrey Perigo, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: The Great Devourer descends. The Crusade makes its stand, while the Wolves hunt.**

**Stay safe out there!**

**We must not falter. We are His sword. We are His Muffins!**


	17. Swarm

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. SCREW YOU, NURGLE, YOU GIANT INFECTED PIMPLE. GO BOTHER ULTRAMAR AGAIN.**

***runs in, slightly panicked***

**Guys, I broke free of the Inquisition's conditioning, but now the Arbites are after me! I didn't know jaywalking was a capital offense on some worlds, and now they want to put me to death!**

Star-Bound

Chapter 17

Swarm

The Tyranids were unrelenting in their advance. Even with the firepower of the Shepard Crusade's fleet, hundreds of enormous spacefaring creatures made it past the blockade to deposit their smaller bioforms into the atmosphere. They then wheeled around to engage the Imperial vessels, which led to a running battle throughout the system.

The war on the planet was much harder for the defenders. The skies were filled with Tyranid pods and flying organisms that fell around the three population centers. Antiaircraft batteries roared as they shot down thousands of targets, but there were simply too many pods coming down to risk sending up the human fighters. They would have been smashed out of the sky by the falling Tyranid 'delivery system'. Instead, they were grounded until the wave ceased, and then they would be unleashed to hunt down the larger flying creatures.

Shepard watched from the strategium with Helmin as Xem-Beta provided analyses for the situation. It didn't take long for her to see a disconcerting development.

"They've found gaps in the anti-air defenses," she said. "It's not that they're getting through, they're actively aiming to land where we can't hit them."

"The xenos have a dark reputation for adapting," Helmin commented. "Any tactic we utilize won't work for long."

"Then our best bet is to make them waste their biomass as quickly as possible." Shepard turned to Xem-Beta's hologram. "How soon before it's safe to launch our air force?"

"_Approximately one-point-three-two hours," _the Magos said. _"Our aircraft will focus on the larger bioforms, but I have directed the Pteraxii to counter the smaller creatures the xenos employ. After the skies are clear, they will enact harassment protocols."_

Shepard believed him; she'd seen the Pteraxii—Skitarii with mechanical wings and talons replacing their feet—in action before. If the Imperials could gain control of the air, it would go a long way towards ending this war quickly.

"All right, Xem-Beta will remain in command of the air defenses." Shepard studied the tactical display. "The Tyranids know we're here, and there's not enough biomass anywhere else on the planet. All we have to do is starve them out."

"The Astra Militarum will hold the line," Helmin promised. "They've been reinforced with platoons from the Deltic Scorpions, critical bastions are held by the Sisters, and the Astartes are ready to deploy wherever they are most needed."

"I just hope everyone remembers that I don't want martyrs," Shepard muttered, "especially since that'll just feed the Tyranids."

Helmin nodded. "We have special units armed with flamer weapons to turn the dead to ash. The xenos will have no bounty of flesh this day."

"Well, I'd rather we burn more bugs than our boys and girls," Shepard said. "Spread the word that I'll personally give a medal to anyone who can confirm at least twenty kills and not die in the process."

Helmin blinked. "That will certainly make them fight like lions."

"That's the point."

Though she still hated what fame brought her, Shepard could see the value of using it to inspire soldiers to perform feats of valor. Sometimes, being a hero had its merits.

"_Alert," _Xem-Beta said, _"xenos bioforms detected. They will reach the outermost defenses in forty-nine minutes."_

"Looks like they're readying for our dance," Shepard said, and gently elbowed Helmin. "Why don't you tell the artillery to start up the music?"

"With pleasure, Your Holiness." Helmin grinned and switched on the vox. "All batteries, fire when in range! Send these abominations back to the void that spawned them!"

…

Several hours later, Shepard charged for what felt like the hundredth time that day. _Liberator _carved through a screaming Hormagaunt, while Shepard's fist shattered the skull of another. A moment later, she brought her weapon down on the head of a Tyranid Warrior before it could fire its weapon-symbiote at her. At her sides, the Alexian Guard hacked through more of the smaller aliens, clearing a path as they fought their way back to the safety of their own lines.

"Damn, that was close," Shepard panted, then spat out alien blood and washed more out of her hair with the water from her canteen. "I think that's the fourth helmet I've lost since the Crusade started."

"Fifth," Carolya corrected. "But it saved your life, so it was a noble sacrifice."

"Tell that to the artificers," Shepard joked. "Last time I told them I needed another helmet, I swear they started to cry."

Some of the nearby Guardsmen who heard the exchange laughed, even as they reinforced the front line, but the laughter ceased when one of them died to living ammunition.

The defenses had held so far, but the Tyranids were only keeping the humans pinned with lesser organisms, while they spawned their more advanced creatures and consumed the biosphere. Thankfully, their progress was slowed by the planet's pollution; there was little biomass to consume outside the three hives.

"Incoming Gargoyles!" a Guardsman shouted, as a swarm of winged creatures flew into view.

"Never a moment's rest," Shepard muttered, but didn't take to the air. Instead, she grabbed a fallen lasgun and joined the Guardsmen in filling the sky with fire. Hundreds of the aliens died, but hundreds more fired the living weapons merged with their limbs; soldiers dove for cover, but many were too slow. In the frenzy of activity that followed, Shepard did what she could to help the medics; unfortunately, most of that involved dragging screaming men and women to triage centers, or just holding someone's hand as they died.

This wasn't the first time since the invasion started that Shepard had watched her soldiers die. The only thing she could do was help keep morale up during and after attacks. Fortunately, she was able to do that well; executions via Commissar were as low as ever, and there were almost no reports of cowardice among the Crusade's forces. Of course, it was still early in the battle, but Shepard had heard stories of the Tyranids' ability to destroy the morale of soldiers long before the fighting started, so it was good to know that that hadn't happened this time.

Finally, the last of the wounded had been taken to the field hospitals, or had passed on. Shepard barely had time to wash some of the blood off her armor when Carolya caught her attention.

"Your Holiness," she said, pointing to the outer defenses, "the xenos come again."

Shepard nodded tiredly, then schooled her features into something more determined. "Well, let's show them how the Imperium treats uninvited guests, shall we?"

…

Helmin braced himself in his command throne as _Iron Judge _shuddered. The main cannon blew a hole in the sea of hissing Tyranids that washed against the outer defenses. That hole was made larger by the tanks of the First-Blooded, while the infantry mowed down the survivors. The tide fell back, but everyone knew that it would return within the hour.

"Vox, patch me through to the Magos," Helmin ordered calmly; he waited until his vox officer nodded, and then Helmin spoke again. "Xem-Beta, are there any strategic updates?"

"_Nothing that would alter our current tactics," _Xem-Beta said. _"However, data suggests that the xenos will adapt within the next three attacks, with a forty-six percent chance that they will do so before the next. We must be vigilant."_

Helmin smirked. "Vigilant is my middle name, my friend."

"_I find that unlikely."_

Helmin would have laughed, but he was distracted by a loud crash above his head. Reflexes, honed by years of combat, had him draw his pistol as the hatch of _Iron Judge _was ripped off. A huge claw plunged down and tore across Helmin's shoulder; his bolt pistol boomed, deafening in the enclosed space, and struck right into the Lictor's tentacle-covered face. A moment later, the tell-tale hiss of lasguns from a dozen directions punched through the Lictor's carapace, and the alien fell over, dead.

"Lord-Marshal!" Several Guardsmen from the Eleventh Vigilant Guard dragged the corpse away, and a sergeant appeared over the ruined hatch. "Are you injured, sir?"

Helmin winced at the pain in his side. "I wouldn't say no to a medicae."

"Understood, sir." The sergeant held out her hand, and helped him out of the Baneblade. "Let's get you out of there."

"Yes, let us hurry." Helmin managed a weak smile. "I'd hate to get even more blood on my chair."

…

Zandtus listened to the report and sighed. "At least the Lord-Marshal will survive his injury, but the xenos are being clever. They snuck in several assassin-beasts during the last assault, lying in wait until we relaxed, because that's what we've been doing between attacks."

Torlim paused as he wiped blood from his power sword. "The attacks were unsuccessful."

"But they caused havoc." Zandtus waved his hand at the dead Lictor; only minutes ago, it had torn apart three Necropolis Hawks in an effort to kill him, and had only failed because he and Torlim had overwhelmed it. "And the xenos are learning. This attack was a failure, but who's to say that the next one will be?"

"I understand," Torlim said, "but we are also more prepared. The Tyranids will not catch us unawares."

Zandtus watched as an Apothecary arrived to harvest the gene-seed of his fallen brothers. "I hope that will be enough."

…

Shepard scowled as another blade-limbed Tyranid tried to slice her to pieces. Instead, _Liberator_ was hurled into its chest, and it feebly gasped for air; it managed one weak breath before Shepard stomped its head into paste.

"And now I've got bug on my boot," she muttered, and then staggered when a Tyranid siege-beast's bio-ordnance exploded nearby, and reached for her vox. "Riona, where's that counter-artillery?"

"_One moment, Your Holiness." _ There was a distant boom, and shells screamed overhead; Shepard heard the explosions, but she could only imagine the spray of dirt and alien gore that followed. _"Apologies for the delay, but our spotters were in danger of being overrun."_

Not for the first time, Shepard cursed the adaptability of the Tyranids. Every strategy they employed would be countered at some point—static gun lines would be smashed from below by tunneling monsters, armor was swarmed by smaller organisms, and counterattacks were met with exploding creatures. The Astra Militarum had suffered horribly at the Tyranids, and it looked like it would get worse before it got better.

The Crusade's saving grace were its other elements. Whenever the defenses looked like they would break, the Order of the Iron Tears would step in, their faith bolstering flagging spirits and their weapons driving back the Tyranids. The Necropolis Hawks had become adept at countering the aliens' underground assaults, even entering the tunnels they made and taking the fight to them; the Lamenters had remained on the surface, engaging the Tyranids that maintained the hive mind with daring raids. The Deltic Scorpions had assisted the Lamenters by going after the lesser command-beasts and capitalizing on the confusion they caused. The Adeptus Mechanicus had assisted the other air forces, and the skies were now owned by the Imperium. Close air assaults by Pteraxii and Archaeopter aircraft punished any Tyranid that dared to show its face.

And then there were the Space Wolves. Shepard was used to allies who enjoyed fighting, but some of the Space Wolves were actually _singing _as they slaughtered their way through the hordes of aliens. When Shepard and the Alexian Guard returned from their latest foray, they found the Wolves standing on a small mountain of corpses, with a few taking a moment to wipe the worst of the gore from Bjorn.

"_Away with you, whelps," _the Dreadnought commanded, though he didn't dismiss the Iron Priest that reloaded his assault cannon. _"The Saint is here, and I would speak with her."_

Shepard glanced at the piles of bodies, a tangled mess of pale flesh and purple carapace; some of the Space Wolves were taking trophies in the form of claws or teeth, and there were plenty to go around.

"I'm surprised you have time to talk."

Bjorn laughed. _"These creatures are nothing to us. I hope to face a Hive Tyrant and bring its head to the Fang."_

"Well, I haven't seen one yet." Shepard took a moment to wipe away some alien flesh from her armor. "They're getting better at hiding their leaders, but if they don't break through our lines, they'll run out of biomass soon."

"_The beasts will grow desperate, or they will implode under their own hunger."_

"That's the hope, anyway, but there are still a few billion of them on the planet." Shepard grimaced. "These freaks scare me more than anything else I've fought so far."

"_What of the forces of Chaos?" _Bjorn asked. _"Most mortals seem absolutely terrified of the Traitors."_

Shepard smirked up at him. "Please, Chaos is afraid of _me_."

Bjorn's laughter was even louder than before. _"If only all our foes could be so easily cowed by your might, young one."_

"I'm not young," Shepard protested. "I'm a hundred years old!"

Bjorn leaned down so that his vision slit could almost meet Shepard's gaze. _"I have lived in this shell for over ten _thousand _years, little girl. Half-life though it may be, everyone is younger than I am."_

Shepard grinned. "Whatever you say, grandpa."

In the days since the war began, Shepard and Bjorn had developed a firm friendship, though their teasing suggested a thinly-veiled contempt. However, both saw the same weary stubbornness in the other, and they had quickly bonded.

Bjorn chuckled once again, and then stood up to his full height. _"You should get some rest while you can, little Saint. The xenos will return soon."_

Shepard turned back to the field of burning alien bodies. "And we'll be ready."

…

Phoros resisted the desire to put his fist through the tactical display. His frustration didn't stem from failure on the battlefield—if anything, the Lamenters had had more success in this campaign than any other in their history. Instead, he was frustrated with his inability to fight alongside his brothers; his recovery from his ascension to Primaris status meant that he wouldn't be fighting at his best. While that normally wouldn't have stopped him, Shepard had ordered that none in her Crusade would needlessly put their lives at risk, and the battle had yet to reach such a dire state.

"To temper your wrath until the moment of greatest need shows wisdom." Across the strategium, Blaise gave him a knowing look as she spoke.

"It is not wrath that unbalances my humors, but frustration." Phoros pointed to a series of marks on the display that bore the Lamenters' heraldry. "My place is out there, with my brothers, yet I am here, made an invalid by what should have given me strength."

"You are a Chapter Master," Blaise said. "Surely you have had to command from the rear before?"

Phoros sighed. "I have, but…" he trailed off, unable to voice his childish thoughts.

"This campaign was to be your chance to prove yourself to Saint Shepard," Blaise guessed. "Your Chapter is doing that on the field already, and I am certain that you will have your personal glory soon."

"I hope that you are right," Phoros said, even as he directed a demi-company of Lamenters to cover the withdrawal of several Militarum companies.

Blaise tapped her chin with a bionic finger as she studied the tactical display. "Even if it does not come today, or even in this campaign, I doubt that Saint Shepard will hold it against you."

"I was not aware you had become so close with her."

Blaise shrugged. "We are friends, and she is my Order's Matriarch. Even if neither was the case, she is not hard to read." Her gaze hardened. "The xenos attack again from the north."

"They likely have some kind of hive set up there." Phoros was already making the necessary arrangements. "My brothers will clear out the location, and then you can bring in some of your sisters to purge it in fire."

"Saint Shepard _does _like it when the aliens die in fire," Blaise commented idly. "Though if your men can break open their carapaces beforehand, it will speed up the process."

"It shall be done," Phoros said.

Blaise smiled. "Yes, I think you will have no trouble fitting in here."

…

Xem-Beta noted his emotional responses spike once more. It had happened eighteen percent more often since he and his forces had joined the Shepard Crusade. This particular set of emotions was recognized as 'anxiety' and 'anger'. The anger stemmed from the proximity of xenos bioforms to holy Mechanicus facilities, and the solution to removing the emotion was simple—the total eradication of said xenos. Not only would that appease the more bellicose machine spirits, but it would improve morale among the unenhanced; it didn't matter to him, but he understood how important such things were to those not blessed by the Omnissiah's logic.

The anxiety, on the other hand, was more difficult to pin down. Xem-Beta had not been afflicted by such a distraction in over two hundred years, not since he was fully inducted into the Cult Mechanicus. It didn't even make sense; as far as he could tell, the Crusade was holding the Tyranids back on all fronts, and rapidly reducing their stock of biomass. He allowed himself to feel pride that it was his contribution to the Crusade that had secured air dominance, and then tried to address the anxiety again.

Casualties were higher than they had ever been, that could have been the reason. Normally, Xem-Beta wouldn't have been bothered by such things; the Astra Militarum alone died in their millions every day. However, his association with Shepard had exposed him to human values that he had long thought purged. He had started to value human life, if only because it was more difficult to get anything productive out of a soldier when he was dead.

Had he started to care about the other elements of the Crusade? Perhaps not in the conventional manner, and certainly not in a way he could understand.

_Eighty-two-point-nine percent of my ground forces on the planet remain unallocated, _he calculated. _Probability of Imperial victory increases by twenty-six percent if they are deployed. Increase of risk to manufactorum facilities… deemed acceptable._

"Input command," he intoned over the noosphere. "All Mechanicus forces are to assume purge protocols. Death to the xenos. Deus Mechanicus!"

…

Deep within the strategium of one of the other hives, Helmin deftly organized the bulk of the Crusade. He had come up with a masterful rotation of the Astra Militarum, so that no regiments were on the front lines for too long, and reserves could be deployed quickly in case of a sudden change in the battle.

"Excuse me, Lord-Marshal," an aide said, and handed him a stack of dataslates. "New reports have just come in; I've organized them by urgency ident-codes."

"Thank you," Helmin said absently, and began to read the first of the reports. "The damned xenos are getting smarter, it seems."

The aide, a waifish girl that practically swam in her uniform, looked worried. "Sir?"

"They're using packs of the larger beasts to draw fire, thus allowing the smaller creatures to advance with fewer casualties." Helmin shook his head. "If we focus on the lesser monsters, the larger ones will rampage through our lines; if we do the opposite, we risk whole sections of our defenses getting overwhelmed. And if we try to divide our fire between them, we may not do enough damage to either.

"And I can't just order the men to target the little ones anyway; those Carnifexes are too distracting." Helmin sighed and took a sip of water, wishing that it was something stronger. "I'll ask Lord Phoros or Lord Zandtus if they can divert hunter-killer teams to eliminate the beasts before they can form up with the majority of their forces."

The aide nodded, even though the words weren't directed at her; she then nearly jumped out of her boots when alarms blared in the strategium, and red lights on the display suddenly replaced a large section of what had only moments before been an unbroken block of green.

"Report!" Helmin roared, and a junior officer stood at attention.

"Sir! The Athonian Nineteenth is gone! We've lost all contact!"

"By the Throne, they were holding the eastern center! Where were the reserves—" Helmin froze, and his eyes grew wide with horror. "The reserves were being reorganized. The timing… the xenos knew when to strike!"

The red spot on the display continued to grow, and the strategium was filled with shouting voices.

"They're breaking through!" Helmin ran over to the Master of the Vox, heedless of the wound he reopened. "Move all available forces to the breach, and have the xenos contained! And get me Saint Shepard, damn you!"

…

Despite the initial panic, the Crusade reacted swiftly and efficiently. The Necropolis Hawks and the Space Wolves redeployed fastest, and the Lamenters were only minutes behind them; the Mechanicus had thousands of Pteraxii and hundreds of Archaeopters over the breach by the time they got there, and fifteen different Militarum regiments were called up to reinforce the disintegrating perimeter.

For her part, Shepard led Canoness Mallis' Preceptory, following as quickly as possible after the Space Marines. The Astartes had their aerial transports, but with so many craft in the air, the Sororitas elected to travel over land in a column of Rhinos, Immolators, and Exorcists. Shepard rode with Mallis in the command Rhino, reading reports as they came.

"It's bad out there," Shepard muttered. "Casualties in the breach are over eighty thousand, and will probably get worse."

Mallis read the same report. "This says that the attack began with an underground assault. How did the Athonians get overwhelmed so quickly? They are among the best tunnel-fighters in the Astra Militarum."

Shepard frowned. "It could be that that was the plan—wipe out the units best suited to keeping them from making a breach. They focused on the Tunnel Rats, and overwhelmed them."

"We have over two hundred thousand Militarum soldiers encircling the breach." Mallis gripped the hilt of her chainsword tightly. "Nearly three thousand Astartes, and a thousand of my sisters, with more on the way. The xenos will be crushed."

"Not if they break into the hive proper," Shepard argued. "We'll have a hell of a time digging them out if they make a true breakthrough."

The Rhino came to an abrupt halt. "Your Holiness," the driver called out, "we've arrived! There is fighting ahead!"

"Okay, everyone out!" Shepard practically ran through the hatch, Mallis and her Celestians right behind her; nearby, the Alexian Guard hopped off the Exorcists they'd been perched on. "Move in and contain that breach!"

"IT SHALL BE DONE!" the Preceptory shouted as one.

Even with the reinforcements pouring in, the Tyranids were causing havoc. Soldiers were dragged screaming down by scything talons and butchered, while others were torn apart by living ammunition. Others still were annihilated by concentrated psychic power as the psykers of the Hive Mind were unleashed. Enormous serpentine Trygons and Mawlocs rampaged through whole platoons, and were only brought down by concentrated anti-tank weapons.

With the arrival of the Crusade's best, morale and discipline began to return. Volleys of las-fire hissed as they burned the flesh and carapace of Tyranids as they poured out of the sinkhole they'd used to breach the line. Flamers roasted the aliens as they tried to push farther, while bolt weapons tore flesh and shattered armor.

Though the Imperial forces fought with the strength of zealots and the skill of veterans, Shepard quickly saw that something was wrong. The Tyranids were unusually coordinated, even for them. They moved with unnatural precision, and unbelievable ferocity; Shepard saw a Termagant tear a man's throat out with its teeth, despite bleeding to death after losing three of its legs.

Shepard looked for the weakest point in the Imperial line, and found it among a platoon of Guardsmen that had been cut off by a swarm of screeching Hormagaunts, led by a hulking Carnifex. If the Tyranids broke through there, they would eventually split the containment force in half.

Without another thought, she flew through the air, the Alexian Guard right behind her; they landed amidst the aliens, several of whom were crushed by the impact. One of the Hormagaunts was too close to swing _Liberator_, so Shepard opted to simply punch it; her enhanced strength tore the creature's head clean off. Around her, the Alexian Guard lashed out with their power swords, or fired point-blank with their bolt pistols.

The Guardsmen cheered, and then fired a withering volley that cut down many of the smaller Tyranids. Satisfied that the line was rallying, Shepard turned to face the Carnifex, which was covered in the blood of a squad it had just butchered. Before she could make a move, a trio of rockets slammed into the Carnifex; one blew a deep crater into its carapace, another tore off an enormous talon at the shoulder, and the third miraculously went inside the Carnifex's mouth. The front half of the monster exploded in a shower of flesh, blood and carapace. Shepard turned and saw the Exorcist responsible for the kill in the distance; she saluted with _Liberator_, even if the gunner couldn't see her.

This hadn't been the first time Shepard had seen the Sororitas pull off feats so unlikely that it wouldn't be out of the question to call them minor miracles. More than once, she'd seen lucky hits that had defeated otherwise impervious enemies, or flashes of light that had turned aside attacks that should have been lethal.

Shepard had once asked Blaise to explain the phenomenon to her; after a long speech about faith and belief, Shepard came to the conclusion that the Sororitas had somehow managed to _weaponize _their faith.

A roar from behind caused her to whirl around; out from the sinkhole emerged a true monster. It wasn't as large as the serpentine Trygons and Mawlocs, but it exuded an aura of malice that sent a shiver down her spine. It was more than twice as tall as a Primaris Marine, with thick muscle covered in living armor. A tail twitched behind it, its tip ending with a small pincer—though 'small' still meant it was as large as Shepard's torso. Each of its four arms ended with a massive living sword, the serrated edges crackling with psychic energies. Its head was topped with a bladed crest that was long as a human leg; underneath that crest was a pair of eyes that glowed with power and inhuman cunning. A long tongue ran over dagger-sized teeth, and then the mouth that held them opened wide to let out a terrifying scream.

It was more than just noise, Shepard realized; a squad of Intercessors clutched at their heads, and several collapsed in twitching heaps. This monster wasn't just physically powerful, it was also a psyker!

_I was wondering when I'd get to fight a Hive Tyrant, _Shepard thought grimly. _Let's see how much backlash gets caused when I kill it._

The Tyranid leader-beast seemed to recognize Shepard as a priority target herself, and it charged at her at almost the same time she charged at it. It swung two of its swords in a wide horizontal arc, which she nimbly flipped over with the help of her wings. She hurled _Liberator_, but her weapon was deflected by another sword; the fourth sword only missed her head by the narrowest of margins.

Shepard hovered in the air, just out of the Hive Tyrant's reach. _Okay, he's better than I thought, so—shit!_

The Tyrant opened its mouth impossibly wide, and a glowing orb of energy shot out; if she hadn't thrown herself to the side at the last second, to say that it would have hurt would have been an understatement. Even if she could heal from terrible injuries, she had no desire to test her limits.

Shepard snapped off a shot with her bolt pistol, but the bolt only left a burr on the Tyrant's carapace. The monster responded by getting in close and stabbing with all four of its swords; again, Shepard used her wings to flip over its head, but this time, she got close enough to leave a bloody furrow on its head with _Liberator_.

Just before Shepard landed on the ground behind the Tyrant, its tail whipped around and smashed into her side. She was sent tumbling into the gore-streaked mud, but rolled to her feet and charged again.

"Okay, you son of a bitch, let's—"

Indescribable pain flooded her; it started with her stomach, and worked its way up to the roots of her hair, while everything from the waist down was completely numb. She collapsed to the ground, and _Liberator _fell from her grasp.

The Tyrant roared in front of her, but it sounded so far away. Why did it sound so far away, when it was right there? The sound of fighting had become muted as well. Was the battle over already? What was going on?

Shepard weakly turned her head to call for backup… and then saw her severed lower half several feet away.

"Oh…"

She blinked once, twice, and then everything went dark.

**That happened.**

**That. Happened.**

**I killed off Shepard.**

**But the fight isn't over.**

**Yes, I'm aware that that was the Swarmlord, but Shepard doesn't know that. As far as she was aware, that was just a Hive Tyrant.**

**Speaking of Shepard, I have a challenge for anyone who actually plays 40K. I want to see if you can build a Shepard for the tabletop. Rules-wise, she would just be played as Celestine. In my head, I would start with the Celestine model, but remove the doves and clip off the blade and guard of her sword. Replace it with the Corvus hammer from the Dark Angels Black Knight set (maybe sand down the spike to turn it into a blade). Either paint her wings to look like they're made of light, or replace them entirely with wings from a Stormcast Eternals kit. Also remove the giant halo. You could also use some tiny dots of Green Stuff to represent the blackstone she has on her armor. Paint her hair that classic fem!Shep red, her armor silver, with that classic Shepard stripe on her right arm. If you can come up with a better version, I'd love to hear about it.**

**You could also just take that idea, cut her in half, and put her at the feet of a Swarmlord model. Apply lots of Blood For the Blood God.**

**Too soon?**

**As always, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. You can get it as a PDF on my site (link in my profile), or in eBook and physical format on Amazon. Seriously, it's one of my only sources of income, and I need the help. I can't work on much of anything else, because I'm going to be taking my dog to cancer treatments every day for the next few weeks.**

**You can also support me on P-atreon (link in my profile). The more you donate, the more rewards you get, including a free copy of my book if you support at the top tier! One day, I'd love to earn enough to afford a place to live, where I can do nothing but write for you guys every day.**

**Thanks to the following people, who are helping me towards my dream:**

**Serious Muffins: jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225**

**Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844**

**Ultra Muffins: Adam Costello, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: The Crusade musters to avenge its fallen heroine. Lords of the Crusade plan to cut the head off the beast. The soul of the Saint wanders through the void…**

**Stay safe out there!**

**The Codex Muffin does not support this action.**


	18. Vengeance

**WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I ONCE TRIED TO GET OUT OF SCHOOL BY CLAIMING THAT I WOULD ONLY BE AVAILABLE ONCE I'D GOTTEN MY DREADNOUGHT SARCOPHAGUS. FOR SOME REASON, IT DIDN'T WORK.**

**Only in death does duty end, right? Sorry, Shepard, it's not that easy for you.**

Star-Bound

Chapter 18

Vengeance

Phoros arrived to a disaster. The Space Wolves and Necropolis Hawks were holding their own well enough, but the Guard were in complete disarray. Even the executions at the Commissars' hands did little to get them organized. They weren't even running away, they were just… a mess. Some were slumped over behind barricades, while others screamed obscenities as they fired blindly into the Tyranids.

What shocked Phoros most were the Sororitas; they fought, but there was a sluggishness in their movements, a despair that he recognized from his Chapter's darkest moments. Something had happened, something so terrible that it had all but broken the spirits of some of the Crusade's most zealous warriors.

"_Malakim," _Zandtus said over the vox, his voice cold and grim. _"I need your Chapter to reinforce the position three hundred meters north of my location."_

"Of course." Phoros directed his pilots, even as he took in the battlefield. "What has happened?"

"_Shepard has fallen." _Those three words hit Phoros harder than he would ever admit. _"The Alexian Guard and a few other units have secured her body, but they have been cut off."_

"Understood." Phoros was calm, but inside, he was struggling to comprehend what he was hearing.

Shepard was dead?

As much as he trusted Zandtus, he couldn't believe it, not until he saw the body with his own eyes.

"Lamenters," he called out to his brothers, "our allies are in danger. It is not our way to let them die, not when we can save them. This is why we are here! Join me in destroying the foe, and saving our comrades!"

Thunderhawks and Overlords lowered their ramps, and the Lamenters jumped out. Bolters roared and chainswords growled, but it was their voices that were heard over it all.

"FOR THOSE WE CHERISH, WE DIE IN GLORY!"

Despite the pain he was still in, Phoros was the first on the ground, and his Glaive Encarmine sliced through a Tyranid Warrior before he finished his third step.

"First Company, with me!" he roared. "No mercy for the foe!"

Ever since Primaris Marines had been introduced to the fold, Phoros had reorganized his First Company. Nearly half of them were Sanguinary Guard, while the rest were the most veteran of Primaris Marines—the best Intercessors, Aggressors, and Bladeguard Veterans. The latter, armed with the finest power swords available and large storm shields, formed a spearpoint that cut through wave after wave of xenos abominations. The Intercessors and Aggressors moved behind them, obliterating anything that tried to flank them with withering volleys of fire.

Phoros ignored the painful protest in his body as he kept pace with the Sanguinary Guard. Once, the Lamenters had been able to field Terminators, but their ancient suits had been lost years ago, and the Imperium had all but refused to replace them. Phoros now made do with an expanded Sanguinary Guard, and he was reaping the benefits now; their skill was apparent as they shot, punched and hacked their way through the Tyranids. Some of them even used short bursts from their winged jump packs to smash any alien that remained out of reach.

The sheer power of over eight hundred Space Marines in a single location was a force multiplier with few equals in the galaxy, and the Tyranids' momentum was blunted by the sheer fury of the sons of the Angel. Other Imperial units who kept their senses were able to rally, and push a wedge into the Tyranids, driving them back, inch by inch.

Phoros almost let the rush of a successful counterattack get to his head, until he made his way to his objective. The Chapter Master felt his newfound hope wither and die, replaced by the familiar, bitter taste of despair.

Shepard was dead.

She lay in a pool of her own blood, her body cut in half at the waist. The Alexian Guard stood in a protective circle around their charge, defiantly holding back any alien that would claim the fallen Saint's corpse. They wept, even as they fought; they were all wounded, and several had clearly pushed past the point of sanity to remain standing.

There were other Sisters of the Order of the Iron Tears around Shepard. They too wept tears of grief and rage as they poured bolter fire into the Tyranids. When they ran out of ammunition, they used spent bolters as clubs, and when those broke in their hands, they used their fists.

"We have pushed the xenos back," Phoros said to the Sororitas. The leader of the Alexian Guard looked up at him brokenly, tears pouring down her organic eye. "We are taking her home. You have done your duty."

The Zephyrim nodded. "We… we will take her to…" She paused. "I do not know where we should take her."

Phoros recalled a map of the area. "There is a temple not far from here. If she should rest anywhere, it should be in a house of the Emperor's worship."

Four of the least injured Alexian Guard lifted the halves of Shepard's body and reverently carried them from the battlefield. The rest of the Sororitas solemnly escorted them; they were in no shape to fight, so the Lamenters fell back with them.

"This is Chapter Master Phoros, of the Lamenters," Phoros said over the vox to the local units. "We have recovered Saint Shepard's body. Do not let her sacrifice be in vain; hold the line, and we will defeat these aliens.

"We _will _have revenge."

…

_Pain. Darkness. Despair._

_That was all she could process. She was a creature of reason and sense, but this was a place with neither of those things. She had died before—intellectually, she knew this—but the last time had been as a mere human. This time, she was connected to something much greater than any human, and in her own death, she felt a sliver of His own._

_Even that was nearly enough to break her._

_Over ten thousand years of agony, unable to do anything but silently scream as a dream died. How He could go on after that was inconceivable; even the short time she'd spent in this hell was pushing her to the brink of madness._

_She reached out, but her arms would not obey her will. She opened her mouth—to beg, to scream, she did not know—but no sound came out. She wondered if she could cry, but not even her tears would come to her aid._

_This place had no hope…_

_Except one._

_An old, withered hand appeared out of the darkness, and gently took her own. She was pulled out of the shadows, and into a familiar place._

"_Hello, my friend," Revelation said gently, and held her close. "I almost lost you."_

_Shepard's cane fell from her hand; she clutched onto the too-old man, and wept._

…

The war had reached a stalemate. The line had been breached, but it was contained for now. Despair had crept through the entire Crusade as news of Shepard's death spread, but it had been replaced with grim fury. A burning hatred sat in the belly of every man and woman, a fire that was stoked each time they raised a weapon to kill another alien.

For the commanders of the Crusade, the war didn't exist—not at that moment, at least. They had gathered in the temple to visit the fallen Saint. Each of them had visited over the last ten days, but this was the first time they had all managed to be there at the same time.

"I still cannot believe it," Helmin whispered. His skin was waxy and pale from lack of sleep. "She seemed invincible."

Hadrian Rex swayed on his feet; he had been fasting since he'd heard of Shepard's death, and he looked terrible.

"Where…" he rasped. "Where were her guards? It was their duty, their sworn oath, to protect her life with their own—but she died, and each of them still lives!"

Blaise wiped away her tears—not that it did much good. Like the rest of her sisters, Blaise had not stopped crying since Shepard had died. Somehow, the tears did not spoil their aim or distract them from their duties. Many claimed that it was some kind of divine sign, but no one was quite sure what the phenomenon meant.

"She was always headstrong," Blaise said quietly. "She fought the xenos leader-beast, while the Alexian Guard kept others from interfering in the fight."

"It is called the Swarmlord," Phoros said, his deep voice echoing throughout the mausoleum. "It is formed when the xenos require a leader of superlative ability. As long as it lives, the aliens will adapt faster; it must die, before the swarm grows too powerful."

"We have yet to find it," Zandtus said. "It hides in the shadows, directing its foul brood. Every attack probes our defenses further. I estimate that we will be overrun in three more days."

"What about the battle in space?" Helmin turned to the hologram of Dartan. "Could an orbital strike be possible?"

"_Would that I were able," _Dartan said. _"We have chased the ship-beasts to the edge of the system, and are exterminating the remnants. Wolf Lord Blackmane has successfully destroyed the nerve-center of the beasts, but there is more to do. Even our fastest ships would take four days to reach you."_

"And by then, we'll be dead." Vils knelt by Hiral, the only non-officer allowed to visit Shepard's body. "Come on, lad; up you get."

Hiral stared at the coffin with dead eyes, and Vils had to gently haul him to his feet. He guided the young man to the door, where the Seraphim who had escorted him there solemnly took him out. If Vils saw the Seraphim pull him into a tender embrace for a moment, he didn't comment.

"We are narrowing down the most likely places the Swarmlord could be hiding," Xem-Beta said, as if nothing had happened. "Each hour increases the likelihood of its location by another three percent."

"Thank you," Phoros responded. "Please, continue your efforts, Magos. We will send reconnaissance teams to those locations as soon as you narrow them down."

"The cogitators do their duty as we speak." Xem-Beta's optics whirred and clicked, and then he abruptly turned and left. "I will return to my ministrations on Saint Shepard's armor. It will be repaired soon."

Zandtus watched him go. "Shepard is dead. Why is he so focused on her armor?"

"Maybe he wants her to be buried in it," Helmin suggested.

Blaise shook her head. "I asked him to repair it. Should we survive this, she would want us to put her wargear to use, not let it gather dust."

Helmin nodded to the new addition to Blaise's arsenal. "I was wondering why you had that."

Blaise rested her hand on _Liberator_. "I am merely its steward. I am certain that a worthy wielder will present herself, but it is not me."

"_This grief serves no one." _Thankfully, the doors to the temple had been wide enough for Bjorn's mighty frame, but rather than joke about it as he once might, he had been silent for hours. _"Shepard was the one lead we had to Lord Russ. With her gone, that chance may be forever lost. The beast responsible had dealt us all a blow—the Wolves have lost our father, the Imperium has lost a hero… and we have all lost a friend. Lord Phoros, Lord Zandtus—when the Swarmlord is found, it will be we three who bring it low. I mean no disrespect to the rest of you, but if that monster could defeat Shepard, only our greatest warriors stand a chance of killing it."_

Helmin and Vils nodded wearily, but Blaise looked defiant. "This abomination has slain _my _Order's Matriarch. The rest of my sisters will fight the wider war, or guard Her Holiness' body, as is their duty, but I will not stand by and let others take my vengeance."

Zandtus, who had known her longer than the other two Space Marines, nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Well said, my friend. We will slay the beast together."

"_Then let us gather our best warriors, and rest while we can," _Bjorn said. _"I sense that we will not wait long, one way or another."_

…

_Shepard was quiet for a long time. She sat next to Revelation, occasionally drawing random patterns in the dirt with her cane, but didn't speak._

"_Death is always hard," Revelation said, "for those who will come back. It is only easy for those who only die once."_

_Shepard made a vague noise that might have been an agreement._

"_I should apologize. I knew that there was a chance you could die, so I took precautions."_

"_And you didn't tell me… why?"_

_Shepard had become withdrawn emotionally, but also physically; with her head tilted down, she didn't see Revelation's relief when she spoke._

"_I did not wish you to become arrogant, to fight without fear of death." Revelation looked up at the starlit sky. "I should never have removed that notion from the Primarchs. Fearlessness makes for good soldiers, but bad leaders. I thought that if you retained your humanity, it would strengthen your ability to resist the dark powers." He sighed. "But I also should have known that it could result in trauma."_

"_Yeah, this is on you." Shepard took a deep, shuddering breath; in her old body, it felt like glass entering her lungs. "How much longer before I go back?"_

"_Soon, I think." Revelation patted her knee. "Until then, I have something for you. A gift. Or an apology. I had planned to give it to you after you found the Wolf King, but then…"_

"_Then I died." Shepard closed her eyes and tried to banish the lingering dregs of terror; it didn't work, but she tried anyway. "What's the gift?"_

"_Consider it also a demonstration of how much your efforts have strengthened me." Revelation chuckled. "I was barely able to bring you to this universe, and only because you fell through that rift. I have regained enough power to temporarily send you back."_

_Shepard's eyes snapped open. "Back? Back to the Empire? Back _home_?"_

"_Only your soul," Revelation warned, "and only for a short time. You will not be able to interact with the world, but it would allow you to see those you love."_

_Tears dripped down Shepard's face again, but they were much happier than before. "I would do anything to see my son again. And Eleanor, and little Gregor and—" Shepard choked and sputtered. "Please. Please send me back."_

"_Very well." Revelation placed his hand on her head. "It will only be for a few minutes."_

"_It's a few minutes I never thought I'd have." Shepard smiled brokenly. "Just do it."_

_There was a pulse, a thrum of power, and everything went dark. For a moment, Shepard thought she was back in that hell, but then she felt a tug on her soul, and she started to move. The sensation grew faster and faster—then, it stopped._

_Shepard opened her eyes._

_She was home._

…

Xem-Beta was as excited as a Magos could be when, two days later, he announced that he knew where the Swarmlord was hiding.

"I cannot be completely positive," he admitted, "but there is an eighty-six percent chance that the beast is in the southern valley. There are other locations where it could be, but no matter what variables I use, the percentages only change by a negligible amount."

"We will send teams to the other locations, just in case," Phoros said. "But we are nearly out of time. We must place our faith your prediction, Magos; if you are wrong, then we are dead anyway."

"_Then there is only the matter of destroying the beast," _Bjorn cut in. _"We must act swiftly."_

"Our best warriors are ready." Zandtus rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "If nothing else, Shepard will be avenged."

Blaise said nothing; on the eleventh day after Shepard's death, the tears had finally stopped, but the Sororitas had come to the agreement that their souls had simply run out of grief. Now, there was only a cold hunger for revenge.

"_Good hunting, my friends," _Bjorn said, and then turned and stomped towards his transport. _"May we see each other again in victory."_

"Or at the Emperor's side," Phoros added quietly.

The Astartes left, but Blaise lingered for just a moment. "Magos, have you finished mending Saint Shepard's armor?"

"Affirmative," Xem-Beta replied. "I performed the final appeasement to the machine spirit myself."

"For now, leave it with her body." Blaise closed her eye in an effort to block out the sight of Shepard's mutilated remains, but to no avail. "If any of my sisters feel the Emperor's will direct them to the armor, they should claim it in her presence."

Xem-Beta only nodded; he didn't understand Blaise's faith, and his own beliefs had often clashed with the Ecclesiarchy's, but he respected Blaise enough do as she asked.

"If it will not cause offense," he said quietly, "I would prefer to remain with the armor as well. It is repaired, but there are still signs of battle that I would have removed."

Blaise laughed, but even Xem-Beta could hear how hollow it sounded. "She always did like everyone's equipment to look their best."

Xem-Beta nodded again. "You should hurry, or the Space Marines may go without you. Omnissiah grant you victory."

…

_Shepard couldn't believe her eyes; it had been years since she'd set foot in her house in Nuln, even before she set off on what she'd thought was her final journey. In her waning years, she had given the house to her grandson, Gregor II, and moved into a much smaller home. She had said that she didn't need a big house, but the truth was that there were too many memories in that place—every room would remind her of friends and loved ones that were long dead._

_For the first time in years, she walked the halls of her home with excitement, not grief. She was finally going to see David and Eleanor, perhaps little Gregor and his wife and son as well! Even if she couldn't hold them in her arms, just seeing their faces would be enough for the ache in her heart._

_As she neared the stairs, she heard the muffled sound of crying. Who was crying? Had something happened? Shepard hurried upstairs, homing in on the sound. It came from her old bedroom, and she almost froze before she reached the threshold. Stronger memories assailed her there—memories of David as a baby, spending time with Eliza, or waking up next to Gregor…_

_She shook her head; she was strong enough to do this._

_Shepard almost didn't recognize the people in the room, and when she did, she didn't understand. Everyone looked older; her grandson couldn't have been younger than fifty, and his little boy, Gregor III, was all grown up, with an arm around a young woman who cried into his chest._

_And then there was the man on the bed, too weak to even raise his head. David had been in his late fifties when Shepard had left, but he looked much older now. His hair was gone, and his skin was even more withered than Shepard's had been._

"_Son." David's voice was barely a rasp, and it sounded like it took all his strength just to speak. "Are you there?"_

"_I am, Father." Gregor II sat by his father's side and held his hand. "Everyone is here for you."_

"_I am… so tired." David slowly turned his face towards his son. "I do not want to leave you all."_

"_We will be fine, Father." Gregor II tried to maintain his composure, but he was failing. "And you get to see everyone again—Mother, your parents, and all their friends! You have nothing to worry about."_

_Shepard had drifted to just behind her grandson; at his words, she realized that Eleanor wasn't in the room. Had she died in the time Shepard had been gone? Shepard felt grief and regret twist inside her._

"_I can see her." David was still weak, but the surprise in his voice startled everyone. "I can see you, Mother. Have you come to greet me? To take me to Sigmar's side?"_

_Shepard froze; David's eyes had locked onto hers. Somehow, despite Revelation's words, David could see her._

_She wanted to cry, but her son needed her one last time._

"_I'm here," she said, and cupped David's face in her hands. "You'll see everyone soon, David. They're all waiting for us."_

"_I miss them… I missed… you…"_

_Alexia Shepard held her son as he died. As his last breath passed his lips, she tilted her head back, and the tears flowed once more._

…

The valley was unusually quiet. The sound of Tyranids stalking, skittering or lumbering could be heard, but it was muted, and there was anticipation in the air.

"I think they're waiting for us," Phoros said. "The Swarmlord knows the importance of removing an enemy's leadership, and we are here now."

"_The beast seeks a personal battle," _Bjorn growled. _"It has become confident after killing Shepard. It waits for us to enter its den."_

Zandtus chuckled dryly. "It would be rude of us to refuse its invitation."

For all her simmering hatred, Blaise couldn't stop herself from rolling her eye. She had come to enjoy the odd humor from the Necropolis Hawks, and she had to remind herself that Shepard herself often approved of humor in dark times.

She then centered herself and double-checked her Condemnor-pattern boltgun. The Swarmlord was a psyker, and her weapon would turn its power against itself.

The rest of the strike force—which contained the elite of all four of their respective forces—spread out along the edges of the valley. While their leaders would engage the Swarmlord, their mission was to ensure that their battle went uninterrupted.

For her part, Blaise didn't really care; all she wanted was revenge for her martyred Matriarch, commander, and friend. For the Order of the Iron Tears to lose its Matriarch before its first year, it was a shame that could only be washed away with the blood of the foe, and Blaise would not rest until she saw that shame erased.

"I saw it," Zandtus said tersely, all humor gone as he returned from scouting ahead. "Four swords—it's definitely the Swarmlord."

"What was it doing?" Phoros asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Zandtus replied.

"You know it is likely a trap," Phoros said.

"You are likely right," Blaise said, her voice a deadly calm. "But I do not care."

"_Good." _Bjorn spun the barrels of his assault cannon, and clenched Trueclaw. _"Just so long as we are all in agreement." _

The four leaders stepped into view of the Swarmlord, who was hunched over in preparation. It rose to its full, impressive height and held its swords out as it roared. Bjorn answered with a roar of his own and charged, assault cannon spitting hot death as he moved. Phoros was right behind him, ready to get in close with his own weapons; Zandtus and Blaise split up and covered their flanks, firing as they ran.

High-caliber rounds lodged into the Swarmlord's carapace, but did little damage, until Blaise fired a consecrated stake from the crossbow attachment of her bolter. It caused a feedback effect from the Swarmlord's psychic powers, and blood poured from its eyes. Its next roar was a mixture of rage and pain as it fired a blast of bio-energy; it caught Blaise in the leg, shattering her armor and mangling the limb, but she continued to fire bolt rounds, even as she fell.

Bjorn got to grips with the alien then, Trueclaw punching deep into the Swarmlord's chest. He took four blows across his metal hide in response, each blade cutting deep, but not damaging his systems. With a shocking display of strength, the Swarmlord hooked two swords against him and threw him a dozen meters away, where he crashed to the ground.

The other two blades caught Phoros' Glaive Encarmine before it landed, and then hurled him back as well. Only a desperate roll across the ground prevented Phoros from being impaled, but then the Swarmlord's hoof-like foot lashed out; the kick landed square on his chest, and he was sent flying back next to Blaise. He leaped to his feet, and then scooped the fallen Canoness up in one arm and ran before they were both killed by another blast of psychic energy.

Seeing that his auto bolt rifle was doing little, Zandtus charged in as well. His power sword slipped past the Swarmlord's guard and into its leg. The beast roared again and smashed the hand—fused to where the handle of its sword would be—into Zandtus' head, shattering half of his helm. He tossed the remnants of it away and avoided a riposte that would have taken his arm off; blood dripped down the side of his head, only for the hyper-coagulants in his system to seal up the bleeding.

"For the Emperor!" he shouted. "For Shepard!"

The Swarmlord roared again, and the battle resumed.

…

_Shepard was quiet for a long time—so long, in fact, that Revelation looked worried._

"_I am sorry," he said as he poked at the fire. "I was able to send you to the living soul you had the most attachment to. I had no idea that he was on the verge of death."_

"_It makes no sense," Shepard finally said. "He wasn't that old when I left. Why did so much time pass? It's been less than seven years here."_

"_You told me once that time moved at different speeds between your first home and your second." Revelation stroked his beard with one hand. "Perhaps the same applies between your second home and your third."_

_Shepard glanced at him; her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was still wet from the tears. "I just watched my son die. I'm really not in the mood for a discussion on temporal physics."_

"_Again, I cannot apologize enough." Revelation's smile was bitter and sad. "After all that has been done to you, you should not have had to see that."_

_Shepard wiped at her eyes. "No parent should outlive their children. That's not something I'd wish on my worst enemy."_

"_Considering who some of your worst enemies have been, that is quite a claim." Revelation peered into the fire intently, but if he saw anything, it escaped Shepard. "You are almost ready to return, but I have a question."_

"_Go ahead."_

_Revelation paused, as if considering what he was about to say. "Despite my intentions, I hurt you far more than I helped. To ask you to keep fighting would be cruel, but I have no other options. Will you help me?" He hesitated again. "You _can _refuse."_

_For a long moment, Shepard considered it. "What would happen to me? And what about the mission?"_

"_The Imperium has endured for over ten thousand years," Revelation said. "With three Primarchs, it may endure long enough for me to come up with a new solution… but you remain the best hope the galaxy has._

"_As for what will happen to you… I am not sure. I can only assume that you will go where all untainted souls go when they die."_

_Shepard looked up at the starry sky. "My husband would be disappointed if I gave up on saving an entire galaxy. My son saw me as his hero, and I did my best not to let him down. Both of them are gone now; if I do end up wherever they are, I'd want them to be proud of me for doing one more good thing in the universe." She sighed. "Besides, I'd never forgive myself if I left all my people behind before the job was done._

"_Send me back in," she said, her voice carrying a weariness that even Revelation could empathize with. "I'm not finished out there."_

"_Very well." Revelation's smile was impossibly sad, and he looked deep into the fire once again._

…

Shepard's eyes snapped open, and she took her first living breath in days.

…

Hadrian Rex knelt by the casket, hands clasped and eyes shut as he quietly prayed. He prayed for victory, he prayed for the Emperor's protection—but most of all, he prayed for the salvation of Shepard's soul. As a member of the Ecclesiarchy, Rex had seen many things that were classified as miracles, but he considered himself blessed for being one of the comparatively few to fight alongside a Living Saint. Ever since the Crusade began, he had watched Shepard perform many miracles—from outright destroying the forces of Chaos, to guiding her fleet safely through the Warp.

He grieved for the loss the Imperium had suffered, for Shepard had been a brighter light than many others in this dark time. He also grieved because someone he considered a friend was gone.

Like many times since Shepard's death, Rex felt a spike of anger towards the Alexian Guard, as it was their duty to keep her safe. That anger faded, like it always did, when he saw what had become of them. The Alexian Guard, mostly healed from their many injuries, stood protectively around the casket; their wargear still showed signs of recent battle, and more than one of them had needed replacement weapons. But it was their spirits that remained broken; unlike the other Sororitas, whose tears had been an inexplicable phenomenon, the Alexian Guard wept out of unending grief. Tears still dripped out from under their helms, falling down their armor and onto the floor. Only their sheer faith and dedication to their Matriarch kept them on their feet, and that was why Rex could not bring himself to hate them. Shepard's death had been a failure on their part, yes, but it was a tragedy, not a lack of faith or skill.

_Thud _

Rex was brought out of his thoughts by a noise. At first, he thought it was Xem-Beta, who had been laboring on Shepard's armor next to her casket—but then he remembered that the actual work had been finished yesterday, and hadn't returned.

_Thud_

This time, the Alexian Guard heard the sound as well. Despite their still-healing injuries, they snapped to combat readiness in an instant. Rex drew his power maul and turned around, determined to punish any who might have intruded on the Saint's resting place.

_Thud-crash!_

It took almost a full three seconds for Rex to comprehend that a fist had just smashed _out _of the casket. A glowing beam of light shot out of the hole; a moment later, the entire casket exploded in a shower of splinters. When Rex's vision returned after the blinding flash, he beheld another miracle.

Shepard was alive.

She stepped down from the altar she had been resting on, barely looking at Rex as she strode past. Her eyes, glowing almost white with power, were locked on her armor; as if reacting to her thoughts, the armor broke apart and flew to its mistress, assembling around her body faster than an entire team of armorers.

"Your Holiness…" Carolya prostrated herself, as did the other Alexian Guard. Only Rex remained standing, but only out of shock.

Still, it was a good thing he did, for he was the only one who saw Shepard's face. Tears of golden light fell in lines down her cheeks, and her smile was sad as she knelt in front of her guards.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" Shepard pulled Carolya up onto her knees and embraced the other woman. "I'm sorry I was gone for so long. We're going to have a talk when I get back."

Carolya blinked; for the first time in days, she was no longer crying. "Back?"

Shepard's smile turned a little playful. "Yeah, I've got to take care of something." She reached for something on her hip, but found only air. "And I've gotta get my weapon back."

Before anyone could so much as raise a hand in protest, Shepard's wings materialized, and she rocketed into the air, straight through the ceiling and into the sky.

Rex hurried towards the door, desperate to find a vox. He had to spread the word—everyone needed to know that Saint Shepard had returned.

…

Blaise slowly crawled away from the Swarmlord, who roared victoriously over her. The shattered remains of her boltgun, along with most of her bionic hand, lay out of reach, and what was left of her leg couldn't hold her upright. Most of her bones were broken, her armor was ruined, and her vision was spotty. Dimly, she realized that she was probably going into her shock; not even her faith was enough to sustain her shattered body.

The Space Marines were hardly in better shape, though they were all still on their feet. Zandtus' chest had been cut open, and both his arms were broken, though his right still had enough strength to hold his sword. Phoros had been impaled through the gut by the Swarmlord's tail, and his Glaive Encarmine was out of reach, embedded in the monster's back. He continued to fire _Catechist_, but a psychic barrier absorbed the worst of the melta fire.

That Bjorn's frame still functioned was a miracle in itself; horrible rents covered his metal body, and his assault cannon had been torn off several minutes earlier. He still fought with Trueclaw, and had even landed a telling blow that had clearly broken something, but he was slower, and had one arm to the Swarmlord's four. It was only a matter of time before the ancient Dreadnought was killed.

The two wrestling behemoths moved closer, and Blaise barely recognized the pain as a foot—whether Bjorn's or the Swarmlord's, she couldn't tell—kicked her in her already shattered ribs. She was sent flying through the air, and landed in a heap; she felt something snap, but her attention had focused on a single thing, to the exclusion of even her pain.

Until now, _Liberator _had remained firmly secured on her hip. She hadn't dared use it, even when her power sword was snapped in half. Now, it was sailing through the air, and out of sight—shame cut through the pain as her Matriarch's weapon was lost, possibly forever.

There was a crash of metal, and Bjorn collapsed nearby; the bloody forms of Zandtus and Phoros followed a moment later. The wounded Swarmlord roared its victory to the heavens, and raised its swords to finish off the wounded heroes…

Until _Liberator_, flying at incredible speeds, smashed into its back with enough force to drive it to its knees. Wreathed in a familiar golden aura, it halted before it hit the ground, and then flew back into the hands of its mistress. Blaise's heart soared as she saw her Matriarch, alive and whole again, land like an avenging angel on the battlefield.

"Hey, you!" The Swarmlord turned and glared as Shepard pointed at it with her free hand. "Round two, cockroach."

The massive Tyranid roared again and charged, which was met by Shepard. Even in Blaise's addled state, she could see a noticeable difference in the fight. Shepard was _fast_, faster than she'd ever seen before, and brought the bladed half of _Liberator _onto the Swarmlord's bottom-left wrist before Blaise could blink. Then, using the momentum from that strike, Shepard swung up, burying the blade into its chest; surprisingly, she let go of her weapon, and then darted around behind the Swarmlord.

Blaise tried to voice a warning when she saw the tail come up, but her words failed her when Shepard caught the appendage with one hand.

"Not this time, bitch." Shepard pinned the tail to the ground, and ripped off the grasping claw with hardly any effort. She then flew up and yanked Phoros' weapon out of the Swarmlord's back with a wash of blood, and tossed it to its owner's feet.

"Get up!" Shepard commanded, and her voice seemed to reach into their very souls. "If you can stand, you can fight!"

The Swarmlord swung one of its remaining swords, but Shepard easily flew around it, and landed on its head. She grabbed the bladed crest with one hand, then crouched so that she could punch the alien in the eye, which burst in a fountain of gore.

"For those we cherish," Phoros said as he spat out blood and charged, "we die in glory!"

While Phoros stabbed into the Swarmlord's leg, Zandtus hacked off another arm and shouted his own Chapter's battle cry. "We claim this domain for the Emperor!"

"_For Russ and the Allfather!" _Bjorn forced his battered frame up and swung Trueclaw in a wide arc; he caught the Swarmlord in the mouth, shattering teeth and nearly tearing its lower jaw off.

Blaise could only watch as three lords of the Astartes forced themselves past their limits to fight alongside the Living Saint. It was a scene she knew would be told about in dramas across the Imperium for centuries to come.

With two arms gone and its body horribly broken, the Swarmlord fell to one knee; it hissed defiantly, only to be smashed to the ground when Shepard brought the hammer-side of _Liberator _into its head. She stood over the beast, wings outstretched and weapon raised; for a moment, it looked like she was going to say something, but then thought better of it, and simply smashed the Swarmlord's head into paste.

As if a switch had been thrown, the nearby Tyranids that had been fighting in the valley were suddenly in disarray. In their almost feral state, they were easily destroyed by the Space Marines and Sororitas. Unbeknownst to Blaise, the loss of the Swarmlord had triggered a similar effect across the planet, and as word spread of Shepard's resurrection, the Tyranids' momentum was finally broken.

There would be more battles, but the war was as good as won.

…

"You continue to surprise me, little Saint," Gabriel Seth said as he wiped gore from his massive chainsword. It didn't do much good, and Shepard wondered if he just did it out of habit. "Not many can claim to have defeated a Swarmlord."

"I had help," Shepard said modestly, "and it was already hurt when I got there."

"And the slaughter that followed has been most cathartic." Seth laughed; it sounded like broken stones grinding against each other. "I almost enjoyed myself today."

With the death of the Swarmlord, the remaining Tyranids were easy prey for the Imperials, especially when news of Shepard's revival spread. If anything, the humans fought twice as hard to make up for their perceived lack of faith when she'd died. Several regiments, and more than a few of the Sororitas, had begun self-flagellation in penance, until Shepard told them that destroying the aliens would more than make up for any failures on their part. Hearing that, the Crusade had begun purging the xenos with even more zeal than before.

Several days after the Swarmlord's death, Imperial reinforcements arrived, including the Flesh Tearers, and a small reclamation fleet from Imperium Sanctus that happened to be nearby. With their numbers bolstered, Xem-Beta estimated that the planet would be purged of alien life in another week, but Shepard would not see the process finished.

"You leave today, yes?" Seth asked.

"Yeah, but I know the kids will have the place cleaned up by the time I get back." Shepard looked up at the stars. "I don't know how much longer this opening will last, and I have to make the most of it."

When Shepard had returned to life, a massive pulse of anti-Chaos power and pushed back the Warp's influence, and now that things had calmed down, she had found that the wayfinder had pointed her in a new direction. The hunt for Leman Russ was back on track, but when Shepard realized where she was going next, she had informed the Crusade that only a small escort would be going with her.

"It is a dangerous place," Seth warned unnecessarily.

"Of course it is," Shepard said. "It's called the Eye of Terror for a reason."

**Shepard's back, but only at the cost of immense tragedy. Sorry, Shepard, but this is 40K, and no one is allowed to be happy.**

**Seriously, though, I have messed with Shepard far more than I should have, and I rightfully feel terrible about it. Let's see for a second…**

**Her parents were murdered by Batarians when she was a child. The events of the Mass Effect games happened—including the deaths of friends, countless innocents, and her own death. Anderson, who was like a father to her, died in front of her. She landed in the Warhammer Fantasy world, had to kill a little girl who was a vampire, got eaten by a squig, her son was nearly killed by a vampire in front of her, her adopted sister (who had been traumatized by her mother's murder at the hand of the Dark Elves) was mutilated by another vampire, she was tortured by a frog, many of her friends died, and her husband was murdered in front of her. She then spent fifty years grieving.**

**And that was before coming to 40K!**

**So, yes, I'm a horrible human being.**

**But, hey, at least the battle against the 'nids is over. Time to go into literal space-hell to find a demigod werewolf Viking.**

**The more I say it, the more I realize just how close to insanity 40K has driven me.**

**Also, as to why Shepard was so easily able to whup the Swarmlord? From what I've seen from Celestine, Living Saints tend to be at their most powerful shortly after they come back to life. Don't expect Shepard to be this powerful all the time. And the Swarmlord **_**was **_**hurt by the time she got there.**

**And if the fight between the Imperials and the Swarmlord reminded anyone of the fight in Avengers Endgame with Cap, Thor and Iron Man against Thanos… yeah, it was inspired. Along with the 'Round two, cockroach' line, which was taken from the fight between Marneus Calgar and the Swarmlord in the TTS universe. I love that scene.**

**As always, please consider buying my book, **_**Alpha Sanction**_**, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it as a PDF on my site (link in my profile), or in eBook and physical format on Amazon. Sales are good for me, and you get a book to read.**

**If you don't want to buy my book (or have already done so, in which case, thank you), you can support me on P-atreon (link in my profile). Every dollar donated brings me one step closer to having my own place to live, along with the underground laboratory where I can develop my army of robots in peace.**

**Thank you to the following patrons:**

**Serious Muffins: jafr86, SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225**

**Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844**

**Ultra Muffins: Adam Costello, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll**

**Next Chapter: Shepard journeys into the Eye of Terror, and a son discovers the fate of his father.**

**Stay safe out there.**

**For the Muffin of Him on Terra!**


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